Carrion Comfort
by labyrinths
Summary: Amy ended up in the juvenile ward of a psychiatric hospital after meeting with Jerry. No worries. Jerry could use a new Renfield. Being the vampire's assistant, however, comes with a few issues...
1. Chapter 1

**Carrion Comfort**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

AU: Amy ended up in the juvenile ward of a psychiatric hospital after meeting with Jerry. But he's not gone from her life. Not yet.

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><p>Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;<br>Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man  
>In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;<br>Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.  
>But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me<br>Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan  
>With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,<br>O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

- Gerard Manley Hopkins

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><p>Amy's shoulders were hunched down. She huddled, instead of sitting, on the chair, waiting for the doctor.<p>

He came with his chart and the folder. He sat across from her, looking thoughtful.

"How are you feeling today, Amy?"

"Fine," she muttered.

"Nurse Grimes tells me you had to have a sedative last night, again."

"Couldn't sleep," she whispered.

"Are you still dreaming about the man?"

The vampire. She was still dreaming about the vampire. But it did no good to say it out loud. That's how she had ended up in the loony bin. Sorry. The psychiatric hospital. They didn't like it when she called it the asylum. They wanted her to say she had "delusions" and suicidal thoughts, not that she was nuts.

The official story went like this: some psycho serial killer had been on the loose. He killed Charley and his mom. Amy survived because she ran, managed to flag a car – a salesman by the name of Jay Dee picked her up – and they drove away.

The psycho killer had then gone back home and set his own place on fire. Killed himself.

Amy had a mental breakdown. Now she was at the hospital, taking Aripiprazole and undergoing treatment. In a few months she'd be right as rain.

That's what the official story said.

Amy knew what she had seen.

"Sometimes."

"Do you want to talk about the dream?"

"It's the same dream. It's always the same dream," she said looking up, straight at the doctor's face. "He's coming to get me and you can't stop him."

#

Amy's feet felt like lead as she walked back to her room. A woman was gibbering, pointing at her. A patient had vomited in the middle of the hallway. Amy stepped through the mess without care or concern.

Back in her little room, her little cell, she was able to relax. She felt safer there, in her confinement, the heavy door guarding her.

_He wouldn't come here_, she told herself. _Too many people. Lots of cameras_.

In the daytime it was easy to believe this. Once the shadows began to snake towards her window, like long fingers lashing at the glass, it was a different story. At nights she felt fear.

Amy spent most of her time sleeping, watching TV and doing puzzles in the rec room. Amy didn't like talking to the other youngsters in the juvenile ward. They were doped up and looked tired. Sometimes they acted weird, started screaming, and it scared her. She preferred to sit by herself.

That day was no different. She watched a soap, then sat working on the newest puzzle, one with pictures of little kittens and puppies. They served a tasteless sandwich for dinner, a little box of orange juice on the side.

When it was bed time she crawled into bed in her white nightdress and pulled up the covers. Her mother had brought Mr. Buttons, her old teddy bear, for her to keep. At first Amy thought it was ridiculous. She wasn't a little kid. But on nights like this, with the wind blowing so loud outside, there was no shame in hugging the toy.

Amy squeezed her eyes shut and began counting in her head.

#

The bear had fallen to the floor.

Long fingers stretched out to pick it up.

"Cute," Jerry muttered.

He sat at the edge of the narrow bed, running a long fingernail along Amy's hairline.

"Wake up, girl," he whispered.

Amy's eyes flew open and her breath caught in her throat.

#

Amy woke up. The teddy bear was next to her. She was alone in the room.

But she was scared.

She pressed the button to ring for the night attendant.

She needed the sedative.

She really did.

She raised the teddy bear, looking for comfort in its face.

One of its button eyes had fallen off.

Amy looked on the floor for the missing button.

She couldn't see it anywhere.

Amy hugged herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Carrion Comfort: **Chapter 2**  
><strong>

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>AU: Amy ended up in the juvenile ward of a psychiatric hospital after meeting with Jerry. But he's not gone from her life. Not yet.<p>

* * *

><p>Too late Amy remembered that it was Friday and this meant Bob was working the weekend shift. She didn't like Bob. Some of the other girls had told Amy he groped them. Amy had only suffered leers and inappropriate words for him, but the nurse that used to run the weekend night shift with Bob in the juvenile ward had quit a couple of weeks ago and had not been replaced yet. Maybe there would be no replacement. Funding at the hospital was not exactly great.<p>

All Amy could hope for was that Bob was not in the mood to try anything that night.

A few minutes later he stood in the doorway, arms crossed. He was a strong, tall guy. Mid-twenties. An arrogant look hung about him, like he owned the whole facility, though if there were any doctors around he was happy to bow his head and say 'yes, doctor' and 'no,doctor' like a trained parrot.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I need my sedative," Amy said.

"You're not supposed to be taking sedatives every night."

"I need it."

"Oh, well," Bob said sliding in, his hands drifting towards his pockets. "If that's the case..."

"Can you just hand it to me?" she asked, looking at him nervously. "I just want to go back to bed."

"Chill. I can get your pills," Bob said. "I just wanted to talk for a bit, that's all."

"I talk to the shrink."

He was now standing next to her bed. He leaned down to speak to her, his voice low.

"Hey, I can get you more than pills. Booze. Cigarettes. Junk food. All you have to do is be nice to me. Mmmm? Want to have a little party in your bedroom?" he asked, his hand settling on Amy's arm.

Amy turned her head and stared at him, her face very cold.

"Go to hell," she whispered.

Bob stood up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended.

"Fine. Be an uppity bitch. Well, guess what? You're not getting your sedative."

"Fuck you."

"We'll do that some other time."

She heard the door shut close. Amy pulled the covers over her head and let out a shivering sigh.

#

Amy dreamed she was back next to the highway. The car had careened off the road, sliding into the desert sand. Jerry had pulled Charley out of the car and Mrs. Brewster tried to stick a big, sharp piece of wood into Jerry's chest. She'd failed and Jerry had simply pushed her away. She had banged her head against the car door and now lay on the ground, unconscious or dead.

Then he grabbed Charley and Amy heard the crunching of bones.

Amy dragged herself back.

Jerry turned to look at her. His face was all different. A monster's mask.

He dumped Charley onto the ground and approached her.

That's when Amy saw the tire iron. It was shaped like a cross.

She held it up.

Jerry let out a low chuckle.

"That's going to stop me?" he asked.

Despite his laughter, he did not move closer. A long time passed. She just kept holding the tire iron up, he just stood by the car, waiting patiently.

"Hey, I'm getting bored," he told her finally. "There's a lot of cleanup for me to do before the sun rises. I suggest you start running."

"So you can kill me?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"I'm going to give you a choice, girl. Run away now. If people ask you, say there was a car accident. You crawled out of the wreck. You don't remember anything else. Then go home and forget you ever saw me. Alright? Can you do that?"

Amy remembered nodding, then running, her breath burning her lungs. At one point she turned her head and saw that Jerry was happily spilling gasoline onto the car. At least in her dream, she did.

Then she just ran. And ran, ran. The highway stretched on forever and the pavement stuck to the soles of her shoes.

In her dream, the stars had fallen from the sky and there was absolute blackness above her head.

When she saw the car she rushed towards it and the driver almost ran her over.

"Jesus," he yelled. "Where did you come from?"

"Take me to the nearest police station," she said when he let her into the car.

At the station she told them everything. Absolutely everything. About the vampire, about the chase and the freakish murders.

They patted her on the back and eventually sent her to the juvenile ward.

Assholes.

And in the dream, towards the end of it, she was in the ward, in her bed, but suddenly he was there too and he was ripping her throat. And Amy wanted to scream but you can't scream when your throat has been ripped.

#

Tuesdays was library day. They were not supposed to sit at the computer terminals in the library by themselves, but with the budget constraints, there was only one library attendant sitting at a desk and no one walked by to check on them.

Most of the boys used the terminals to look at pictures of women and jack off.

Amy had more constructive purposes.

She looked around, making sure no one was watching, and flicked on the printer/scanner next to a terminal. She scanned the drawing she had made during arts and crafts time, then uploaded it to the forum.

It was a vampire forum. She wasn't supposed to log into any morbid sites either, but since no one checked on her it wasn't hard to do it. Amy had half a dozen aliases and posted at several paranormal sites. She posted about Jerry. To warn others.

_If you see this guy, run_ , she wrote. _This is the vampire who tried to kill me_.

She stared at the drawing, as it looked on the monitor.

Three minutes later a message came in.

It was from lordofdarkforces69.

She clicked on it.

_Amy Peterson?_ It said.

She turned off the computer.

#

"And these vampires Amy, how do they pass undetected?"

"It's not that hard in Vegas," she said, head bowed. "People work night shifts on the Strip all the time. Lots of transient people. Lots of people to eat."

She could hear the doctor shifting in his chair, the tick of the clock. She stared at his nice, expensive alligator shoes. She knew he was not listening. She had told the story before.

"And in your dream the vampire sneaks into the hospital, just like that? And nobody notices?"

"Yeah."

"What does he do? Swirl in as a puff of mist? Fly in through the window?"

Amy raised her eyes, which were red from her lack of sleep.

"He's a fucking vampire, not a fairy."

The doctor frowned. He did not like the cussing but she was beyond caring that morning.

"So he doesn't turn into a bat? Doesn't fear garlic or crosses?"

"Yeah, crosses he does."

"Clearly he's not a Jewish or Muslim vampire."

"It's not funny, doc."

The doctor sighed. He wore thick glasses and was going bald. Reminded her of her father.

Amy hated her father. He'd done this to her though her mother was worse. She'd just gone along with it. Gave her a teddy bear.

Because it's OK to abandon your daughter if she has a plushy.

"Amy, I have to tell you, it's been five months and I see no signs of progress, and here," he said tapping a piece of paper, "here it says just a few nights ago you used profane language and tried to hit nurse Harris."

Bob. Fucking Bob Harris had been making up lies to get back at her.

"I didn't do that."

"Yesterday you got in a scuffle with another patient."

"He taunted me."

"What did he say?"

"He asked me if I'd tasted vampire cock."

"And you..." the doctor checked his papers, reading out loud, "...smashed a keyboard in his face, then grabbed a biology book and tried to make him 'eat the pages'."

"I tried to stuff the pages down his throat," she clarified.

The doctor sighed. The clock ticked on. He looked at it and shook his head.

"I'm afraid our time is up. I think we may have to think about increasing your Aripiprazole."

"Whatever floats your boat," she muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 3**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>AU: Amy ended up in the juvenile ward of a psychiatric hospital after meeting with Jerry. But he's not gone from her life. Not yet.<p>

* * *

><p>Amy looked at the puzzle. This one was a pony puzzle. She slid a piece into its place, trying to ignore everything but the task at hand.<p>

"Amy. Your uncle is here to visit you," one of the nurses said.

Amy frowned. Uncle Owen? Really? She hadn't seen him since she was fourteen. What the hell did he want? Amy followed the nurse into the so-called 'family' area.

There was a man standing there with a tin of cookies, but she'd never seen him before. He was very skinny and smiled at her.

"Amy! How have you been doing, sweetheart? Not chitty-chatting in the Internet forums all day I long, I hope?" he asked.

He had a British accent and now that he spoke he sounded vaguely familiar.

He leaned down as if to hand her the cookie and whispered quickly in her ear. "It's lordofdarkforces69."

"Uncle Owen!" she said, sounding chipper and hugging him.

A couple of minutes later the nurse had drifted away. Amy looked at the guy, frowning deeply.

" OK, how the hell did you find me and what do you want?" she asked, her voice low.

"I'm here to help you. I knew Charley...um...let's sit down, shall we?"

They sat down by a window, the tin with cookies resting on Amy's lap.

"Look, I met Charley a few months ago. He came to see me about some vampire stuff..."

"Why would he go to see you?" Amy asked, interrupting him.

"My real name is not lordofdarkforces69, obviously. I'm Peter Vincent."

"Isn't that the dude who does the Fright Night act?"

"Yeah."

Now she remembered. He didn't really look like the guy in the ads, not with his hair so short and no tattoos.

"I'm a bit of a vampire expert and Charley came to ask for some information. I didn't really believe it at the time, but then he popped up dead and he had this drawing...anyway, I've seen you posting in the forum. I didn't know it was you. But then the other day you posted that drawing and I recognized that face. I put two and two together and figured you were the Amy from the news stories."

"How did you know I was in this hospital?"

"Everyone at your high school knows you're here," he said. "Of course, they also say if they whisper your name in front of a mirror three times you'll appear and hack them to pieces, but hey. Information is information."

"I guess I won't be running for prom queen, then," she deadpanned.

Peter snapped his fingers and smiled. "You're funny."

"The doctors don't think that. Anyway, I still don't get why you are here."

Peter looked around, his eyes shifting. His voice was now barely a whisper.

"You can't post shit like that again."

"What do you mean?"

"Your stories about vampires. The drawing. You have to stop."

"I'm doing a public service."

"It's going to get you killed, dummy. He let you go, didn't he?"

Amy curled her fingers around the tin can.

"How do you know that?"

"He killed everyone else but he said you had a choice. You could live if you shut your mouth. Didn't he?"

"Something like that."

"He meant it. Humans...humans can sometimes be useful to vampires. I don't mean as food. Like Dracula, he needed Renfield, right? To move around his coffins and shit. Sometimes vampires need humans for stuff like that."

"I don't think I can lug around a coffin."

"Well, not now," Peter said. "But ten, twenty years from now? Who knows. You might be the CEO of a big company. A cop who can pull certain strings. You could even be a celebrity. He could use that. The money, the power, whatever you have to offer. But you have to keep your mouth shut. You can't be Tweeting about vampires being real."

"I wasn't Tweeting."

"You know what I mean."

"Nobody believes me anyway, so who cares?" she asked. "Everyone says I'm a nutcase."

"You're stupid, that's what you are. Stop talking about vampires. Tell them they're right. It was a psycho killer. You imagined it all. You're happy now and think of rainbows and lollipops. You want to go home. Then you get out of this ward, move, you forget about all this and you go on."

"Yeah, and how do I forget?"

"Drink it away, if you have to. It doesn't matter. Just bury it."

Amy shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. She wanted to yell at the guy, but she didn't want to cause a scene and have the nurses drag her again. She already had a couple of strikes that week.

"Look, I couldn't do anything for your boyfriend. I'm doing this for you. Follow the advice."

Peter stood up.

"Is that what you did?" she asked, staring at him. "Follow the advice?"

"I'm still here, ain't I?" he replied.

He walked away leaving Amy holding her tin.

#

Amy had another bad dream. The highway, the meeting and then again her room and Jerry attacking her. In the morning she looked at the one-eyed teddy bear and kicked it away.

Fuck this shit. She was tired of being scared.

She made another drawing, this one in color. She scanned it and posted it to the six forums she was a member of, printing his name beneath it.

JERRY DANDRIDGE IS A VAMPIRE. All in caps.

It was a big fuck you to Peter Vincent. To Jerry, too of course. If he wanted to come and kill her, let him do it now. She was tired of waiting for him. She was tired of the damn juvenile ward with its medication, its apathetic nurses.

She was tired of the antiseptic smell of the floors. You couldn't open the window in her room because it was bolted and locked, and if you were naughty, they warned you that you could be strapped down and drugged.

Outside, there was a weedy lawn that was half-dirt. You could shuffle your feet around there once a day, if you were good. Otherwise it was the rec room with the TV right out of 1985. You'd sit there, in a cheap plastic chair, with a cheap fold-out table and make your puzzles.

The carpeting was old, thin, dirty. Everything was old, cheap and dirty.

What Jerry, Peter and the doctors wanted was to say that nothing had happened. To shut her mouth and pretend she was just a crazy girl and they'd let her out of there.

But all Amy had was the truth.

She was not giving that up.

Jerry, Peter and the doctors could go to hell. She was not recanting. There were vampires and she had met one.

Jerry could come and kill her if he wanted.

The doctors could try to fill her up with more drugs and ask more pointed questions.

The only thing that kept her sane right now was the truth.

Amy sat in the middle of her bed and ate one of Peter's vanilla cookies. She felt a lot more relaxed as she snuggled under the covers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 4**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>AU: Amy ended up in the juvenile ward of a psychiatric hospital after meeting with Jerry. But he's not gone from her life. Not yet.<p>

Dear readers: anyone reading this? Reviews keep me going :D

* * *

><p>The shadows looked darker than usual. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation. Amy watched the window intently. If he came, he'd come tonight.<p>

The door opened.

Amy stared at the tall silhouette. She swallowed.

"Still awake, Miss Peterson?"

Amy blinked. It was damn Bob Harris standing in the doorway.

"I didn't call for you," she said.

"Well, I thought I ought to be nice and check to see if you needed your sedative. Night terrors, they can be a bitch, hu?"

"I'm trying to wean myself off the sedatives," she muttered, staring at the ceiling.

"Must be tough. Should I sit with you for a bit?"

"No."

He walked in anyway, keys jingling from his belt, and pulled the only chair in the room, close to the bed.

"I said you didn't have to sit with me," she said, her eyes still fixed on a patch of the ceiling.

"You are a bit of a bitch, aren't you? Yeah, I've seen you. How you act around the other patients and the nurses. Like you're too good for this place. Like you've got an icicle up your ass."

"If you don't leave now I'll tell the doctors that you've been bothering me."

"Who do you think they're going to believe?"

A hand slid upon Amy's breast. Bob Harris was definitely a groper. She knew from the other girls that he'd probably be satisfied with a quick patting of her body, happy with his power trip. All she had to do was ignore him. That's what the other girls said: just ignore him and he'll get bored and leave you alone.

But Amy felt this powerful rage in the pit of her stomach and without even considering the consequences of her actions, she grabbed the cookie tin and smashed it against his face.

"Agh."

The tin rolled to the floor.

Bob raised his head, clutching his forehead and she realized she had hurt him pretty badly. There was blood welling near his hairline.

Amy laughed.

He was on her in seconds. He hit her so hard Amy's head spun. She felt a nail breaking as she dug her hands into his face.

"I'm going to kill you, bitch!"

"Mind your language."

Bob turned around, no doubt ready to start explaining that she had started it, she had attacked him.

Amy watched as two clawed hands fixed themselves around Bob's head, breaking his neck with a dexterous spin. Bob fell to the ground, mouth open. Amy looked at the corpse, unable to stop a smirk from grazing her lips. Then she looked up at Jerry.

He was standing very casually, hands now sliding into his pockets.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

"Aw, missed me?"

"Yeah, I usually like to be killed on Mondays, you know?"

"Mmm…I save the murder of teenagers for Wednesday. So do you want to get out of this joint now or should I come back next week?"

Amy chuckled. Then she stared at him.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah. Better make up your mind soon," he said, tearing the keys off Bob's belt. "I need to get rid of this guy's body and drive home before sunrise."

Amy had no idea why she wasn't bleeding to death all over the floor. Then she remembered what Peter had said: humans could be useful. She had no idea what Jerry had in mind. Maybe she could give out flyers at the mall to help him recruit an army of vampires? Maybe he just wanted to torture her in peace?

Whatever it was, Amy knew it wouldn't be good. But if she didn't go he'd probably kill her on the spot. If she went, maybe, just maybe, she could plunge a nice, long stake into the undead bastard's heart.

Well, going out fighting a vampire sure beats slicing your wrists open and Amy had a big death wish that weekend, so she nodded.

"Alright."

#

Jerry's car had tinted windows and a big trunk. He stuffed Bob into the trunk, then held the door open for her. _Murderers can be such gentlemen_, she thought with a roll of her eyes.

Amy climbed into the car and turned on the radio.

Jerry gave her a sideways glance, like maybe he didn't like music, but tough shit.

Amy listened to the soft rock station while they drove. It was a surrealist moment, but the more she sat in the car, the more the fear she had felt for all these months evaporated. She wasn't sure this was what the doctors meant when they talked about facing her fears, but it was working.

Slowly, her eyes closed.

She was just resting them. She was tired. But she wouldn't be able to sleep without her sedative. Just resting her eyes…

…and then he was shoving her awake.

"Get out of the car. We're here."

Amy blinked, yawning. They were inside a garage.

Amy stepped out. For the first time she realized she was barefoot and in her nightgown. She should have grabbed her sneakers and some jeans.

Amy followed him into the house, softly padding behind him.

"Where's here?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter."

Amy supposed he had a point. It was a large house and it was furnished, but she could tell he hadn't picked the décor. Maybe he'd bought it furnished or he simply killed the previous owners and moved in.

They marched up the stairs.

"Your type likes to snack on people," she said.

"Been on the Internet, hu?" he asked, chuckling. "Did you learn anything else from those vampire forums?"

"Not a lot. I've been a bit busy being drugged out of my mind lately."

"Maybe you should have told the doctors what they wanted to hear."

"And miss all this fun?"

"Do you even understand the fun you're going to be having?"

"I get to be your new Renfield?" Amy asked, with a mocking tone. "Pick your clothes from the cleaners, order the pizza and move the coffin? Shit. There are worse jobs you can have as an intern."

She was about to reach the second floor when he turned with such speed that Amy almost lost her balance and fell down the stairs. But he caught her wrist and pulled her up. Jerry lowered his face, staring at her straight in the eye.

"I appreciate how well you're taking this, Amy darling, but don't overdo it. And don't piss me off."

Amy's mouth clamped shut. He smiled pleasantly.

"You can thank Peter for your life. He thought you'd be useful," Jerry said.

"Peter Vincent?"

"One of my…oh, what was that word? Hmmm…Renfields," he said snapping his fingers. "You two would have a great time getting to know each other. He also spent some time at an insane asylum."

"Psychiatric hospital."

"In a padded cell," Jerry said. "Anyway, here's a room for you. Get inside."

He shoved her in. Amy didn't have time to protest. She turned around.

"Hey—"

She heard the click of the lock.

"Damn it," she muttered.

It was a small room. A door opened into a bathroom. Amy turned on the light switch, illuminating the white tiles and a great, big tub. All the drawers were empty: no shampoo, no soap. The room was the same: no clothes in the closet. The paint on the walls looked cracked here and there. The furniture was worn. When she pulled at a drapery she saw the window had been boarded shut. She tried pulling a plank, but it didn't give. And to be frank, she didn't care much.

Now that he'd come, now that she was in his clutches, now suddenly all her fears seemed rather unimportant. She'd live or she'd die. Probably die. What of it? She'd been a prisoner before, in the ward.

Amy flopped onto the bed and went to sleep. She had no nightmares.

#

In his penthouse, Peter Vincent opened the shoebox and looked at the Polaroids. Pictures of his parents. His brother. Peter Vincent himself looking totally 80s with his big hair and aviator sunglasses. He hadn't been much younger than Amy when his family was murdered.

What the books don't tell you about being a vampire's familiar is how shitty the whole situation gets. Peter didn't have to kill people – Jerry did that –, but even the occasional mopping of an unpleasant situation or the plain, bitter knowledge that he was helping keep a predator alive did get to him.

He felt saving Amy's life might somehow tilt the karmic balance in his favour. He'd assured Amy a second chance, arguing vehemently about her potential when Jerry informed him he was going to go murder the girl.

_Give her another chance_. _She's smart, Jerry_.

It had to count for something. Right?

Peter rubbed a thumb across the Polaroid.

God, he hoped he'd done the right thing. Because the other option – that he'd just damned this girl – was entirely too unpleasant to contemplate.

Peter took a swig of Midori and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.


	5. Chapter 5

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 4**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>Reviews fuel the writer.<p>

* * *

><p>It took Amy a few minutes to realize she was not in the ward. She stared at the unfamiliar walls and then recalled the previous night.<p>

Amy waited for Jerry to show up. She waited for a long time until the door creaked open and she saw him standing there, just staring at her.

"Hey, you need to feed me," she reminded him. "I'd also like some clothes."

He snickered and locked the door again.

Amy sighed and rolled back onto the bed.

If he wasn't going to murder her via vampire-bite, then his plan might be to kill her with boredom.

#

Peter walked in, lugging all the bags and dumped them on the floor. The girl was on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. She turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hi. I brought you some clothes," he said.

"About time," Amy muttered. "It's freezing inside here"

She knelt down and began looking in the bags, pulling out the jeans and shirts he'd bought.

"There's clothes. Underwear. Toiletries. Even some makeup."

"Aren't you the thoughtful man?" she said pressing a shirt against her chest. "It's even the right size."

He didn't want to brag, but the bras would also be the right size. He had an eye for that.

"I don't suppose you stuck a sandwich somewhere."

"Here," he said, tossing her an apple.

Amy caught the apple in the air. She gave it a vigorous bite.

"So is this like your thing? Concierge for the undead?" she asked.

"Since 1988, sweetheart."

"Did you have to apply for the gig? I mean, did he run an add in _Transylvania Times_?"

"I think I ought to explain a few things to you."

Amy sat on the bed, kicking her legs a little.

"The thing about vampires, is sometimes it's a bit hard for them to adapt. Specially the older ones. You know how grandma and grandpa don't want to learn how to use a computer or get a cellphone? Well, it's a bit like that. They have a hard time coping with the passage of time. And things are changing a lot faster nowadays than they did before."

"So what? You go on eBay and buy shit for Jerry so he doesn't have to get his own profile?"

"I serve as a link with the modern world. Vampires of Jerry's age...they can forget some stuff. Like they'll suddenly start acting like it's Wallachia 1655 and they can drain the whole village dry because they are the lords of the manor. I...kinda remind Jerry that's not going to fly very well today."

"How old is he? He looks like thirty-five."

"Over four-hundred years old, I'd think," Peter said.

Amy looked at her apple, frowning. She took another bite.

"So you're not down with the whole 'I want to build myself a vampire army' thought process?"

"It's hard to get the warrior out of the old bloodsucker," Peter said with a shrug. "I've always said eating the homeless and not siring any new pups is the way to go."

" Gross ."

"The other thing is sometimes vampires like Jerry, they'll get into one of their moods..."

"Yeah, I've seen his moods," Amy countered angrily. "He murdered my boyfriend. Remember?"

"Yeah. I know. Vampire temper tantrums are not good. It's the same thing I was telling you about the senile people. You know how old people wave their canes and yell 'get off my lawn, punk? '"

"Except he tears people's throats off instead of waving a cane."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "He does. But that's what a familiar is for. To...ah...diffuse some of that."

"So why the hell didn't you diffuse him before he killed Charley?"

_Because I don't do my job so well anymore_ , he thought. _I'm a bitter old drunk and I don't care much what he does these days_.

"I tried. Anyway, I convinced him not to murder you."

"Thanks. When I was a little kid and they asked me 'what do you want to do when you grow up' my answer was 'vampire caretaker.'"

Peter smirked. Amy continued nibbling her apple, looking thoughtful.

"How did he recruit you?" she asked.

Peter was never going to forget that night. They had been having dinner, just like any other night, when this...thing just tore into the house. Killed his parents and his brother in a whirlwind of blood, then lifted him with one hand, nails scratching his throat.

_You're going to help me_, he told Peter.

Peter pissed his pants. He said sure thing. Anything you say.

Later he figured that Jerry had been sleeping for a long time. Or trapped. Or something like that. He kept muttering about the London Underground. He kept talking about 'the bombs' and the 'noise' and by some of the stuff he sputtered, Peter figured he was talking about World War II and the Blitz. Jerry was filthy, caked in blood, and his clothes were just rags. Tatters barely covering him.

Eventually Peter convinced him maybe it was a good idea to take a bath and he got him to sit down in the living room – which he had diligently cleaned, tears dripping down his face – and turned on the TV.

Jerry fell in love with color television. He was just fascinated with the MTV channel. Madonna jumped on screen and he pointed a long, clawed hand.

"She's in her knickers."

The he laughed a big, deep laugh. Jerry still liked TV. Loved it, in fact. He was a veritable reality show junkie.

"He just did," Peter muttered, unwilling to go into sharing mode just that second.

"He said you spent time in a psychiatric hospital."

"Six months after I met him. I just had a mental breakdown in the middle of a supermarket."

It had actually been a bit funny. He had bumped into a couple of Goths dressed as vampires, with false fangs, all in black. And he'd began screaming. He just couldn't stop screaming. Then he grabbed a bottle, smashed it, and tried to cut one of the Goths. Tried to slice his face off.

They'd let him go after a few weeks. Peter lied and said he'd been high. Vampires were not real. And when his 'big brother' came to pick him up, Peter just smiled blandly.

_Don't do anything like that again, little brother_ , Jerry told him once Peter was inside the car. _I'll break your spine if you do. _

"Did they diagnose you as delusional?" she asked.

"Of course."

Amy had finished her apple. She was now preoccupied with the clothes, shimming into a pair of jeans. She glanced at him, realizing than he had not looked politely away.

Amy snorted, defiant, her back to him as she pulled off her nightgown and put on a t-shirt.

"How did _Fright Night_ happen?"

"Random chance."

The truth was it had been one of Jerry's "associates." Jerry never had any trouble getting money. He knew a lot of people, a lot of secrets, and there were quite a few scared shitless people who, just like Peter, were quick to bow to his demands. One of these persons was a guy named Otto Van Grau. A n old movie director who had shot a bunch of flicks before World War II broke. One day Jerry dragged Peter to meet him, intent on extracting some cash and some assistance. Jerry was tired of the UK and wanted to try the States. Grau had the necessary contacts, having lived in Hollywood in the post-war era, shooting musicals, none of which quite rivalled the moody film-noirs of his youth.

Otto had promised his help and in the midst of their talk, had turned to Peter.

"He's a handsome lad. There's a project a friend of mine is working on. It's called _Fright Night_."

"What's it about?" Jerry asked.

"It's the story of a vampire hunter."

Jerry had a good laugh at that. But it was a way to get a visa. Both for Peter and for Jerry, who was billed as a "production assistant" in the paperwork.

One time, when Otto had been drunk, he'd told Peter that Jerry had tried for a film career, once.

"But he can't be caught on film. All the rolls we shot showed nothing," he muttered. " I think that pissed him off."

Peter derived some wicked pleasure from that knowledge. Jerry might go on about how he had been painted by Picasso, but Peter could shoot a music video. Maybe that was why Jerry was so fascinated by the phantom images delivered by the television set.

"He helped make me a star. An act. He thinks it's funny. Ironic: the vampire hunter employed by the vampire. Oh, and he appreciates the money. Which reminds me, if you want anything..."

"Can you remind him I need regular meals?" Amy asked. "And that pets need their exercise? I'd love to be able to stretch my legs. Walking between the toilet and the bed doesn't cut it. Also, can I have an iPod and some magazines?"

"Got it."

Peter stood up, ready to say his goodbyes.

"Can I ask you something?" Amy said.

"Sure."

"Did you ever try running away or killing him?"

"That's two questions."

"Can you answer one?"

"I tried running away," Peter said. "It didn't work. People got hurt. I suggest you don't attempt it."

"What about killing him?"

Pete smiled, ruefully. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time. Just do as he says, alright?"

#

Peter drifted downstairs. His thoughts were dark and his meeting with Amy had left him feeling old. Worn.

He headed to the living room.

"What's the diagnosis, doctor?" Jerry asked from the couch where he was sitting, feet propped on a coffee table. He was watching _Jersey Shore_.

"She seems fine. She asked me to remind you that she needs to eat. She wants an iPod and some magazines."

"You didn't have to bring her clothes. I was looking forward to seeing if she could fashion a dress out of the curtains."

"This isn't _Gone With the Wind_," Peter muttered.

"I hope you're right about her," Jerry said pointing a finger at him with one hand, while he sipped his beer with the other. "For your sake. You've been a bit of a fucking disgrace lately."

"Yeah. So I'm told."

Jerry smirked, downing the beer and tossing the bottle away. It rolled upon the floor, resting under the TV set.

"At least the bird's a looker."

Jerry didn't slip into British slang very frequently. He'd lost his accent at a terrifyingly quick pace. Plus "bird" was a bit of an archaism.

"She's a teenager."

"My, my, have you been growing some morals in your spare time?" Jerry asked, mockingly. "Don't worry. I don't intend to go out there and prostitute her."

"Well, that's a load off my shoulders. I'm more concerned about you..."

"Quit your yapping. You're harshing my mellow," Jerry said as he reached for another beer. He had already consumed one six pack and was heading for the second. Then again, Jerry could drink any mortal under the table. "Why don't you go fuck your stripper and have some Midoris?"

"Ginger's not a stripper."

"Bye, Peter."

"I'll come and see how she's doing in a couple of days."

Jerry pumped up the volume of the TV set, ignoring him. Peter left, head bowed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 6**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>Reviews keep the writer writing, so give 'em!<p>

* * *

><p>It felt odd having dinner with a vampire, but hey, at least he was now providing food. Amy picked at a cheese platter. After wavering for a second, she took a sip of wine. It's not like she was going to get carded.<p>

"Peter's popping by tomorrow to show you some stuff," Jerry said.

Amy nodded, stuffing her mouth and guzzling down the booze. Aside from the apple, she hadn't had any other nourishment. That wasn't the bad part, though. She was used to the structure of the ward. The regimented, clearly spaced time periods.

"Can he get me some puzzles?" she asked.

"Some what?"

"Puzzles," Amy said. "I've got a thing for them."

"Funny."

"What?" Amy said stopping, holding a piece of cheese in mid-air.

"Nothing," he said, standing up and refilling her glass.

Amy frowned as she popped a piece of bread into her mouth. He hadn't had anything.

"You never drink vine?" she asked putting on an exaggerated Bela Lugosi accent.

Jerry didn't laugh. Amy shrugged, snorting and grabbing the glass.

What's worse than being the vampire's new slave? Being the unfunny vampire's new slave.

"Can I see the rest of the house or is it off limits?" she asked.

"Maybe later."

"When are you going to let me out to roam by myself?"

"Maybe later."

"Maybe later," she repeated, mocking him.

"You don't look suitably terrified."

Amy pointed a fork in his direction, gripping it tight.

"I had six months to be terrified. Six months of dreaming how you were going to kill me and a ton of sedatives just so I could catch a couple of hours of sleep because I was too damn scared to go to bed. I'm fed up with being terrified. Excuse me if I slip into indifference for a day or two."

"Just don't get too comfortable," he said.

Jerry slid his hand over the surface of the table, his nails scratching a lazy line across the wood.

Amy put her fork down, staring at the long nails.

A hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

"You've had your dinner. How about I have mine?"

"How about I don't want to be a damn vampire?" she asked.

"Ah, don't worry. You'd have to be nearly sucked dry to be a vampire. I'll just take a tiny bit."

"Yeah...that's still a no."

The hand tightened around her shoulder.

"I'm afraid it's not a polite request."

Amy raised her hands, trying to fight him off, but he pushed her back into the chair with ease. Amy squirmed.

"Shhh...calm down," he purred, pressing a hand against her mouth to muffle her scream. "All you need is a taste."

Amy watched as he bit his own thumb, then he pressed it against her lips.

Amy had a chance to experience a variety of drugs and sedatives while staying in the juvenile ward, but never something that hit you so quickly and with such a punch. She just went limp and did not twitch, even when the cool fangs bit the skin.

A single tear fell down her cheek.

#

"There. Try indifference," he muttered a few minutes later, tossing her onto the floor of her bedroom.

Amy's eyes were glassy and unfocused. She couldn't even begin to close them.

Eventually the floorboards melted beneath her and she felt dirt underneath her back. Amy turned her head to discover she was laying in a wide, open field. Corpses were strewn all around her; tatters of chain mail and leather and broken flesh. She realized a bolt had lodged in her chest. She tried to speak, but blood sputtered from her mouth.

In the sky there was a bright, burning standard.

This was a battlefield.

Amy saw three shadows slinking towards her. She couldn't see the faces, but she heard the voices.

"This one's still alive."

"Strong."

And then it was the old familiar dream of the black highway, the night without stars and she was running.

Running, running.

She heard laughter and did not know if this part of her dream or if he was really laughing, somewhere in the room.

#

Amy Peterson looked she was the ghost of a girl. Pale as porcelain, sitting on the floor when he walked in.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked the moment he saw her.

She raised her eyes, smirking. "I'm all good. Jerry just wanted a snack."

"No."

Peter knelt down, setting his backpack on the floor. He turned her neck and looked at the puncture marks. Yep. He'd done it. Asshole.

"Look, Jerry doesn't do that unless he absolutely needs the blood–"

"He didn't need it. He was just having fun," Amy said, snapping at him. "Why are you justifying him."

"I'm not!"

"Am I going to die now?"

"No," Peter said. "We should just bandage it."

"He fed me his blood. It was disgusting," Amy said.

Peter sighed. "Ah, well. That's a way of bonding. He...from now on, he has a connection with you. Like when he wants something, you'll be able to feel him in your head."

"Like I've got a cellphone drilled into my skull. Gee, Peter, tell me this is as good as it gets."

"It's not that bad. He doesn't use it often."

"Just like he doesn't bite often."

Amy snorted. Peter could probably guess why Jerry had bitten her with that attitude. Amy was still all sharp edges. She hadn't been smoothed into conformity. That would come, sooner or later. He hoped sooner or Jerry wouldn't wait for a later.

"I also had a fucked up dream. I was in the Middle Ages. It was weird."

"That was him. A memory of his. You might see some stuff, from time to time. A little side effect of the blood."

"Vampire Channel, playing in my head."

Peter unzipped the backpack and took out the files, setting them next to Amy. He had three thick manila envelopes and a notebook of scribblings.

"You'll forgive the mess, but I haven't scanned and cataloged all of this yet."

"What's that?" Amy asked.

"Vampire lore. Lots of info. This one is about the 12 vampire houses," he said handing her one of the envelopes. "Jerry is a Karnstein. You might want to read up on that."

"Houses?"

"Yeah. The Zaleskas are the most important ones here in the States. Part of your job is to keep an eye on them. Vampires like to engage in territorial fights. Jerry lost his pack recently, so they might be itching for a fight."

"His pack?"

"He was trying to rebuild it," Peter said. "Not what I would recommend, but anyway. Then your boyfriend pissed Jerry off and he went all wacko and..."

"He burned his own house down."

"_I _ burned his house down. What, do you think I could let the cops find vampires in the basement? Yeah, I can buy off a lot of people but there are some limits."

"I bet Jerry didn't like that."

"He understood. You don't live for four hundred years without some collateral damage," Peter muttered.

Amy was looking at Jerry's insignia. She grabbed another page.

"The Karnstein branch is characterized by the seductiveness and cunning of its members," she read out loud. "The Karnsteins are physically attractive, strong and often able to pass off as humans."

"Not all vampires are created equal," Peter said. "Pray you never run into an Orlock. Those fuckers are ugly. Bald as baseballs."

"Oh, goody. I got the pretty one."

"You might want to dial down the irony meter," Peter said. "I don't mind, but clearly, he does."

They both looked towards the door, as though Jerry were listening. Which he might be.

"This is the really important part, for now," Peter said handing her a piece of paper. "It's a list of your chores."

"Number one: purchase beer. Number two: purchase apples. Number three: clean up," Amy said, frowning. "Clean up? I'm his maid?"

"I'm not talking about the damn shower," Peter said. He was starting to get a headache. Lack of booze. He patted his clothes, looking for his cigarettes. "Where are my smokes?"

Amy dipped her fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled box.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Peter lit the cigarette and threw his head back, feeling much better.

"What were you talking about then? If not the shower?"

"Well, it's more like industrial cleaning. Removing brain matter from a wall, for example."

Amy made a face.

"No way," she said.

"Oh, _yes way_. Blood, brain-matter, decomposed bodies. Yes. Get a snow scraper for the brains."

"Shit!" she said jumping to her feet.

Peter also stood up. He smiled, trying to seem congenial.

"He does his own cleaning. For the most part. But once in a while something happens. Maybe he has to split because it's almost daytime...who knows. When that happens, you have to solve it. Any way you can."

"What else?"

"Money. He collects antiques. All vampires are into antiques. You'll help with that. He has several storage lockers all over the country. You have to keep track of that stuff. Properties are a bit trickier. There is a law firm that handles that, but you'll still be required to look at some paperwork. It's all in the papers I gave you. The important list is the numbered one. Learn it. I'm a bit busy doing some other stuff for him now, so you'll have to deal with the basics."

Amy looked at the paper, then up at him.

"All this and no dental?"

Peter chuckled. He pinched Amy's cheek.

"You're cute."

#

Jerry was meticulously slicing an apple with his bare hands. Peter stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fuming.

"Did you have to bite her?"

"I didn't have to. But I wanted to," Jerry said innocently.

"Shit, Jerry! This is a familiar! Not some rib eye stake you caught on the street!"

"What's wrong with a little sip? I have to tell you, I like her a lot more now that I've tasted her blood. It's got a really nice texture to it. Very sweet. Like candy. Hey, do you think Charley tapped that? Because I'm guessing not. She has this scent..."

For once in his life, Peter grew a spine. He pointed a finger at Jerry, angrily.

"You don't get to fuck her."

"Oh, I don't? Then who does? You, old boy?" Jerry said, tossing a piece of apple in Peter's direction. It struck him on the forehead. "Finders, keepers."

"Your familiar..."

"Spare me the bullshit rules out of the Middle Ages. It's the 21st century."

Peter rubbed his forehead, cleaning the splatter of apple with his hand.

"What I want to know is if you've found the damn kid."

"No," Peter said, spitting the monosyllable.

Jerry sighed. "Then why the hell do I keep you alive, mmm, Peter?"

"Because he hasn't been found but I know who's hiding him: the Ruthvens."

"Ed has joined the Ruthvens?" Jerry said, looking thoughtful. "Are you sure?"

"You can't sense him–"

"I can sense him, you little shit," Jerry said. "I just can't _place _him."

"Well, I'm guessing the Ruthvens are blocking you. It wouldn't be hard. Not with all their protected buildings."

"Which means he could be anywhere," Jerry tapped his fingers against the kitchen counter. "What the hell does Gordon want?"

"I'm guessing he wants to teach you a lesson. You did kill several of his thugs."

"Yeah, well, he started it. Some seventy years ago," Jerry muttered darkly.

Jerry seemed lost in thought. Peter brushed a hand across his face. He felt grim that day.

"If that's everything, I'll be heading out," he said.

"Yeah, run along."

Peter hesitated, he thought about saying something else about Amy, running his hand through his hair. He decided not to and stepped out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 7**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>Reviews keep the writer writing, so give 'em!<p>

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><p>There was really nothing for Amy to do except to read the files Peter had left her. She flicked through the pages, her finger lingering upon a word or sentence.<p>

"There are three types of vampires. The thrall, the sired vampire and the true-blooded vampire. A thrall is the lowest of all types, created when a vampire imbibes and infects the subject. They retain few of their memories and faculties," she read out loud. "The sired vampire has been bled and fed the blood of a vampire. It retains its memories and faculties."

Vincent had taped a rough reproduction of a woodcut print which showed a vampire making a cut on his chest.

"Gross," she whispered, remembering how Jerry had made her taste his blood.

"The true-blood vampire has been bled and fed thrice by a member of one of the twelve houses. The name of the convert has been offered and accepted by the governing house council and inscribed in the _Book of Blood_. These vampires are of the blood."

Amy looked at the insignias of the twelve houses. The Orlocks had what looked like a very ugly bat, while the Ruthvens had opted for a deformed wolf.

"Only those of the blood may make thralls and sire vampires. Should a thrall or sired vampire attempt to increase its ranks, the creations shall be destroyed. Well, that's a bummer."

Amy flipped the pages. There were all sort of diagrams and pictures. Some of them had been photocopied and pasted in by Peter, others he had drawn. There were even some photographs of weapons and objects.

Amy stopped when she saw a photograph of an oil painting. It was Jerry, though he was dressed in antiquated 18th century clothing.

"Jeremiah Danebridge of the Karnstein line. This is the oldest painting I have found of him though I believe he may have been sketched by Da Vinci," Amy whispered, reading Peter's tight, scribbled words. "I peg him at 400 to 600 years old. Born in England, but spent time in France, Greece and Spain."

Amy stared at Jerry's dark, smug eyes.

"Who the hell are you?"

#

He opened the door and looked at the girl. She seemed engrossed in her reading, not even bothering to glance in his direction.

Amy had blond hair that curled slightly around her shoulders, reminding him of a Gibson Girl. But there was also something rather angry, manifesting in the tightened mouth. The contrast amused him.

"Bored, yet?"

To her credit, Amy did not get all jumpy like Peter when she saw him. Peter was always eyeing Jerry, as though Jerry was about to pounce on him and suck the marrow from his bones. What a cry-baby. Jerry had only seriously considering disembowelling Peter _twice_, but Peter acted like it happened every weekend.

"I can't say the parts in Latin are my cup of tea," she replied, shuffling her papers and putting them aside.

"You should get a real education and learn how to read it," Jerry said, his fingers resting against the frame of the doorway. "I expect a lot from you."

"Look, I'm supposed to do all this crap for you," Amy said, unfolding her legs and standing up, "but I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do it if you don't let me out of this room."

"Peter's getting you a driver's license. Once he's done that, you can drive the car and get out. We're a bit isolated here."

"Where's the nearest town?"

"Not near."

She rolled her eyes. Young people these days had no manners. Jerry wasn't into the archaic customs of some of the other vampires, but maybe they had a point when they insisted on being called "master." Maybe if he'd drilled that point into Ed's little head the punk wouldn't have gone running to his enemy's side.

"Can I see the house?"

Jerry shrugged. He stepped aside. Amy peeked into the hallway. It was your standard home. He hadn't customized it. Much.

Jerry made a sweeping motion. "Hallway. Stairs."

He walked down the stairs, Amy following him. He pointed to a closed door.

"Office. Don't go there," he pointed in the other direction. "Kitchen. You've seen the dining room. Living room is over there. Satellite TV with more than 300 channels."

"Where's your coffin?"

Jerry gave her a dour, hard look. What did she think he was, some B-movie dipshit?

"I don't have a coffin."

"Then where do you sleep?"

"Why are you so interested?" he asked, grinning.

"So I can stake you when you nap," Amy said flatly.

He almost laughed at that. Almost.

"In the basement. For the most part," Jerry said, opening a door under the stairs and turning on the only light bulb downstairs. He didn't need it, but she would probably fall and break her neck in the dark.

Jerry quickly reached the bottom. Amy followed him, taking each step carefully.

Finally she reached the bottom and peered into the semi-gloom.

Jerry had piled large mounds of earth all around the basement. Amy wrinkled her nose, her pretty little face ripe with disappointment.

"Oh," she said.

"What did you expect, princess?" he asked, feeling annoyed.

"Well, since you're some sort of vampire nobility…not this."

"I was never nobility," he muttered. "The Karnsteins didn't pick me because I could play the gentleman."

"You're muscle."

Jerry gave her a narrow look. "I was a soldier."

"What did you fight for?"

"I fought for the highest bidder. Of course, nowadays there's no honor in battle."

Amy chuckled. He stared at her, crossing his arms.

"What?"

"Honor? You kill teenagers and innocent suburban moms."

"Do you feel sorry when you rip a paper towel in two?" he asked. "I don't give a fuck about humans. I meant honor among vampires. Fighting as it should be. With a sword. With courage. Not like a snide little cheat."

He thought of Gordon and felt a deep desire to maul something with his claws. _Ruthven garbage_.

"I'm going for a drive," Jerry said, irritated. "You can come or I can toss you back in your room."

#

Amy had gotten hold of the radio. Rock poured from the speakers. Jerry growled.

"What?" she asked. "You don't like music?"

"No."

"What do you like?"

"Television."

Amy figured that when you got a vampire who likes to wear white cut-off shirts, one couldn't expect much class and refinement. She was in the company of an undead meathead.

"What did you do for fun before television was invented?" she asked.

"Gambling."

Amy tapped the window with her fingertips, nodding.

"What is with all these vampire houses, anyway?"

"It's the way we are organized. We are all different."

"How different?"

"Different powers. Characteristics. The Orlocks, for example, can create illusions. People will think they turn into mist. But it's just a trick."

"What about the others?"

"The Zaleskas have mind control."

"Don't you have mind control?"

"The fact that I can find you when needed doesn't mean I can control you. With the Zaleskas, it's something different. They can read your thoughts, enter your mind and move you like a flesh puppet. They are the only branch that does not feed off blood."

"What do they eat?"

"Pain."

That didn't sound too good. Amy sank deeper into the car seat, slightly creeped out.

"But the Zaleskas are physically weak. The Orlocks are also quite delicate. The Abutin are hermaphrodites and really like entrails. They can reproduce and cannot be sired."

"Ugh."

"The Yu—" he said.

"What about the Ruthvens?" she interrupted, remembering the wolf sigil. That had looked interesting.

Jerry chuckled darkly.

"They turn into wolves. European trash."

"Aren't you European?"

"I'm Karnstein," he said coldly. "My line is pure."

"Okay," Amy said.

Apparently, there was a lot to learn about vampires and their little country clubs. And most of it was not good.

#

The harsh light of the convenience store made Amy's hair look more white than blond, starkly pale. She was sitting on the hood of the car, sipping the biggest Slurpee he had ever seen. It was the size of her head. Jerry didn't think she was going to finish it, but she seemed to be making good progress.

He downed another beer and crumpled the can, tossing it away.

He was starting to get bored.

The girl stared at the sky.

"What?" he asked.

"It's been a long time since I've been out at night."

"Your fault. You should just have kept your mouth shut and told them you didn't remember anything. Saying you've seen vampires does tend to send you to the insane asylum."

"I couldn't lie."

Jerry snorted. "Why not?"

She turned her head and gave him an icy look. "It's all I had."

Such melodrama. Did he have to get such whiners as familiars? Peter had been mope, mope, mope. _Waaa. You killed my family_. How about some perspective? How about my whole village has been murdered to get a real sense of scope?

"Pfff," Jerry said.

"I can't believe Peter has stuck with you for twenty years," Amy said accusingly.

"Well, despite being an alcoholic and a bit of a moron, Peter does have one thing going for him: he likes to stay alive."

Amy clutched her Slurpee with both hands, staring ahead.

"I happen to like Peter."

Jerry raised his head lazily and looked at the girl.

"Ha," he said plucking the Slurpee from her hands and tossing it away.

"Hey! I wasn't done with that!"

"You'll get fat," he said, shoving her off the hood of the car. "Get in. We're heading back."

"Your butt is fat."

Jerry grabbed her chin between his fingers, lifting it with a single claw.

"You can do better than that."

"Hemo-gobbler," she said.

"Oooh, that's a new one," he said, laughing an actual laugh.

#

"Who's that?" asked one of the vampires. "Is that a newborn?"

"Let me see," muttered the other, tugging at the scopes.

Ed frowned, leaning forward, watching the pair jump off the hood of the car.

"That's Amy Peterson."

"Amy, who?"

"A girl I knew," he said, a brief, uncomfortable flash of Charley burning in his mind. "She's not a vampire. She's human. I can smell it."

"What's he doing chilling with a human?"

"That's a familiar," Ed said.

Ed was quiet. The other vampire frowned, elbowing him. "What's wrong?"

"He's smiling."


	8. Chapter 8

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 8**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>Reviews keep the writer writing, so give 'em!<p>

* * *

><p>"Josette du Pres," Amy said, staring at the driver's license. "Twenty-three."<p>

Jerry laughed uproariously.

"What?" Amy asked.

"It's a character from an old soap," Peter said, pointing a thumb at Jerry. "He thought it would be funny."

"What soap?"

"Something he caught on reruns."

"Was Joan Collins in it?"

"Do you two ever watch television?" Jerry shot back at them from the couch, a big scowl on his face. "I slept through the 60s and _I_ know it."

He was watching _Jerry Springer_, the volume was very high, but clearly he could still hear them from across the room.

"Whatever," Amy said. "What else do you have?"

"Credit card. Checking account. Keys. They're all labelled. This one is for my penthouse–"

"Why the hell does she need keys to your penthouse?" Jerry yelled.

"So she can look at my books!"

"Look at your cock, more likely!"

Peter blushed a little, looking mortified. He scratched an elbow and shook his head.

"He gets like that sometimes. Fucking off his meds–"

"I heard you!"

"I KNOW!"

Peter grabbed Amy by the arm, gently guiding her towards the kitchen. He opened the briefcase he'd brought and took out a silver flask, quickly downing it.

"It's noon, Peter," Amy whispered.

"Give it a decade," he replied, screwing the cap on the flask again. "You'll be drinking it up too."

"I'm not planning for a decade."

"Mmm…look, I have a bunch of papers here, but we still have to go see the lawyer. You need a car, too. I seriously need you to start doing some of the day-to-day chores, because with this 'Evil' Ed business, I'm not even sleeping…"

Amy placed a hand on top of Peter's, holding him still.

"What 'Evil' Ed business?" she asked.

"Aw, shit," Peter muttered. "See, that's why I shouldn't drink this early."

"Tell me."

"I'll tell you outside."

Peter walked towards the living room. "WE'RE GOING TO GET AMY A CAR!"

Peter walked back to Amy and ushered her towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder, wondering if she should leave without Jerry's permission.

"Don't worry. He doesn't care right now," Peter said.

#

Peter pressed a button and the locks of the convertible popped open. Amy looked at it, half in awe.

"Shucks, Peter. That's some set of wheels. Standard vampire familiar issue?"

"Show business pays, darling."

Amy slid into the car, slapping her hands against her thighs in glee. She turned on the stereo.

"Jerry hates music, do you know that?" she said, turning to look at him.

"Aha."

"He's such a dick. Hey, why don't we just drive and run away? This car looks fast."

"Because he'd find us," Peter said patiently.

To tell the truth, he was half-tempted to say 'to hell with it' and just split. Sure, Jerry would find them in a week, but maybe they could drive to Mexico before that, get a tan and have sex. At _least_ get a tan.

"He's in a good mood right now, but he'd cut our heads off if we did that."

Now that Peter thought about it, Jerry was in an _awfully_ good mood. He looked positively giddy. Even chummy.

Bizarre.

And frankly, scary.

"So what about 'Evil Ed'?"

"That," Peter said snapping his fingers. "Well, there was this high school kid…I think you knew him, no?"

"Vaguely."

"Jerry turned him."

"Sired him," Amy corrected.

"You've been reading my notes," he said, completely pleased to hear that. "Yeah, sired him. I think he just felt sorry for the poor thing. Not much to look at there. Anyway, Ed is not a thrall, so I didn't have to burn him to a crisp. Got him out and Jerry was all happy that at least he still had one of his children…"

"That sounds really disturbing."

"No, but they really do consider it a family bond," Peter said. "Let's just say thralls are kind of like the byblows you have when you don't wear a condom, but a sired vampire is a choice. Of course, a true-blooded vampire is an even bigger deal. That's like a favourite child."

"OK, the idea of Jerry and condoms just makes me want to puke a little in my mouth," Amy replied. "Thanks for the crappy metaphor. I'm going to have to wash my brain with bleach."

"Sorry. Most of my metaphors do involve sex."

"Can we not…alright, so he had one of his children left."

"Yep. And then Ed goes to Gordon Ruthven's side."

Peter could almost see the dots as Amy tried to connect them in her brain without any success.

"Who's that?"

"Some guy Jerry doesn't like. I actually don't know much about Gordon and Jerry. All I know is a few months ago Gordon arrives in Vegas. Which is not such a big deal. Lots of vampires are moving here. Plus, he's a Ruthven. They have carved themselves up a good portion of the Strip.

"Then Jerry learns about it and he goes apeshit. He doesn't have a pack. Hasn't had a pack in a while," Peter turned and looked at Amy. "They're a big liability. I hate them."

"And?"

"And suddenly he's turning all this people! He's making thralls left and right and he's going on about 'building an army' and bringing Gordon down. Frankly, I thought he was going senile."

"A senile vampire."

"Well, he thought he could go all _Salem's Lot_ on your suburb and…I dunno, kill Gordon. Only Ed and his friends figured him out, he killed them, killed Charley and then it all blew up into this huge mess."

Amy was quiet. Peter guessed he might have been a bit more careful about mentioning Charley, but he'd already opened his mouth. _What's done is done. Stop looking like a God-damn lemming_, like Jerry told him.

"Then he got his karmic reward," Amy said, her eyes very serious. "I'm glad Ed stabbed him in the back."

"Well, the problem is I think Ruthven is planning something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that's perfect," Amy said excitedly. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? We let Ruthven tear him to pieces. When he comes knocking, I invite him in. Bye, Jerry!"

"Generally humans don't do so well in vampire cross-fire. Plus, I don't think you've met a Ruthven."

"Can they be worse than him?"

Peter gripped the steering wheel tight. He chewed his lower lip.

"I'll tell you something, Amy. I've spent twenty years watching over Jerry because he's threatened to kill me if I don't help him. But I've also done it for another reason."

"What reason?" Amy asked.

Peter turned to look at her, his face. He was very pale.

"Because the others would kill me faster. The best defence against a vampire is another vampire. I don't know about you, but Jerry is kind of the only one I've got."

Amy looked at Peter suspiciously. Maybe she was thinking he had developed Stockholm Syndrome.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would they kill us? They've got no beef with us."

"Familiar. You. Me. We're Jerry's. They'll take him out and take us out."

"They haven't killed Ed."

"It doesn't mean they won't. Ed is stupid. Naïve. I know better. I know what happens when it's vampire clean-up time. You never leave the familiars alive. Ever."

"Why the hell did you have him pick me as a familiar, then?"

"He was going to carve you like a jack-o-lantern," Peter said with a sigh. "There was no other option."

"Ugh."

Amy cranked the window down. Her hair fluttered a bit. Like a shampoo commercial. She was very pretty.

How far was Mexico?

"I say we chop Jerry's head off tonight and give it to that Ruthven dude," Amy said.

She actually sounded quite passionate about the idea. Peter could almost see her sneaking down into the basement with a saw.

"What we need to do, all of us, is find out what Ruthven wants. Then we kill Ed. Jerry really wants that part."

"Saw."

"No saw."

"Saw"

"I tried that!" Peter yelled, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "It didn't work! Want to see the scars?"

The car swerved a little. He tightened his grip. Amy had gone all quiet. It took a while before Peter could speak again.

"Look, call me a coward. I'm just not willing to go against him."

"I won't."

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Call you a coward."

For some reason he felt very grateful for that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 9**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Reviews are food for the soul.<p>

* * *

><p>Amy had returned with a cute, little yellow Fiat. Jerry watched from the doorway as his two familiars chatted. They'd brought groceries, but didn't seem to be in any rush to drag them inside.<p>

Amy was laughing.

It was a nice laugh. All for Peter. Peter was lapping it up, already half-convinced he was Rudolph Valentino.

Jerry might have never existed to them.

Jerry elbowed Peter away, cutting a path between them.

"Having a good time?" he asked.

"He was explaining what _Dark __Shadows_ was about," Amy said.

"When you're done chatting, put the damn beer in the fridge," he said. "I'm going for dinner."

Amy clapped her mouth shut and he was happy to see she didn't ask a dumb question like 'what are you eating?' or 'are you killing someone?'

"You better not be here when I get back," he told Peter.

"Sure thing," Peter squealed.

Satisfied, Jerry jumped into his car and waved a curt, ironic bye.

#

"Dick, dick, dick," Amy muttered, shoving the beer bottles inside the refrigerator.

It was like Jerry wanted to kill any joy she could summon.

He deserved to be murdered by the Ruthvens.

Amy stuffed the last of the bear bottles and stood up, leaning against the refrigerator.

At least he was gone.

Maybe she could use this alone time to sniff around the house. After all, Jerry was probably too busy murdering people to come back soon.

Amy started with the upper floor. She found an almost empty attic. Old Christmas decorations, probably from the previous owners, rested in a cardboard box. The bedrooms upstairs had furniture but, other than her own, they did not seem to be in use. Even his room – and she guessed it was his more by a hunch than any physical evidence – had a clean, clinical look. As though it was for show. She supposed it was, since he liked to sleep in the dirt.

Amy headed downstairs. The living room was littered with beer bottles, as though a frat boy called this home. The dining room held nothing new. She ventured into the basement and stared at the mounds of earth, imagining Jerry there, like a big, fat pale worm.

One day, she'd bash his head while he slept.

She climbed upstairs, sighing.

_Ugh,__who__was__she__kidding?_Amy thought, rolling her eyes. She guessed others had tried that trick before and failed. What had made her think she could be the fearless vampire slayer?

That's when her eyes fell upon the door to the office.

He'd said not to go in. But Amy wasn't going to mess anything up.

She tried the handle and the door opened without offering any resistance.

Well, if he didn't bother locking it, then it wasn't her fault.

Amy pressed the light switch.

The room was crammed with loads of old stuff. Books, photographs, a mechanical typewriter. She looked up at a photograph showing people standing next to a carriage. A framed newspaper clipping read "World Fair 1893." His insignia, sown on some sort of banner, was flat against one wall.

The most impressive items were the weapons arranged beneath it: a sword, so heavy she didn't think she could lift it, an axe, and several knives.

Amy touched an antiquated pistol, the kind a duelist had employed more than a century before.

She opened a book, flipping through pages of detailed anatomical drawings.

A small box revealed jewels. Diamond earrings and a matching necklace. Cufflinks. All sorts of trinkets. She grabbed the necklace and went to the bathroom, snapping it around her neck. Amy looked for the little makeup bag Peter had brought her. There were some elastic bands inside. She pulled one out, tying her hair up so she could look at the necklace better. She put on the earrings, too.

"Why, yes, I _will_ go to the ball tonight, Count Dracula," she told the mirror.

Amy chuckled. She went back to the room, tossing the necklace with the rest of the jewels.

That's when she saw it. It was half-hidden beneath a curtain.

She approached slowly, carefully peeling the curtain back.

It was a whole shelving unit full of puzzles. There were Burr puzzles made of dark wood. Lock puzzles of fine metal. Japanese puzzle boxes decorated with patterns of flowers and birds. Black and red lacquered puzzles inlaid with gold. Boxes trimmed with brass and decorated with rubies.

"Oh," she said sliding her hands over a particularly beautiful one.

It was a lovely shade of blue and when she turned a piece, it began to play a melody.

This was him, she realized. The other rooms held no speck of Jerry, but this office was full of him. She thought of herself as a tiny figure, sitting in the belly of the great whale, looking at its innards.

Amy put the box back on the shelf.

"I guess you didn't read fairy tales when you were a kid?"

_Shit_.

Amy turned around. She pressed her hands behind her back, biting her lip.

"Or you simply never learned the moral of 'Bluebeard,'" Jerry said.

"I was just looking around," she whispered, sliding the earrings off.

"This is all worth a lot of money."

"I didn't break anything. I swear."

Jerry brushed his hands over the puzzles. A possessive gesture. And a tiny splinter of affection.

_He__loves__those__boxes_, she thought.

She felt guilty, all of a sudden. As though she'd broken into a church, though there was nothing holy about Jerry.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You have so many beautiful things—"

"Not your things. Not for you to see or touch," he replied.

"I know."

"Do you like to make me angry?"

She watched his eyes go black, watched the wicked nails rise in front of her face. She recalled what he'd done before, the feeding. Amy's stomach flopped inside, despite her desire to remain standing straight and bold.

"Don't bite me" she muttered.

She preferred the removal of her liver to another bite; to that feeling of helplessness.

He tilted his head, smiling wide, fangs looking rather sharp and large.

"Fine. Let's try something different."

He brushed the hair back from her face, touched her neck and Amy thought: he's going to tear my head off.

Then he bent down to kiss her.

Amy tried to pull away. His fingers tangled in her hair. She pressed her hands against his chest, trying to shove him away. He didn't even budge an inch.

She felt sharp fangs against her lips, sliding against her tongue.

"Jesus!" she yelled.

He finally released her. Amy stumbled back, hitting the wall. Several photographs rattled in their frames, one of them tumbling to the ground.

Amy pressed both hands against her mouth.

He tasted of beer and blood, and Amy wanted to brush her mouth with Lysol to get that awful mixture of _him_ off her.

She snatched the pistol she'd seen before and levelled it at Jerry.

"Don't come close to me again."

"Spoilsport."

"I will douse you in holy water! I will bury you in concrete! I—"

"Blah, blah, blah," he said his hands moving, imitating a mouth. "You look like a third-rate Van Helsing."

Amy did not care how the fuck she looked. She clutched the pistol, slowly walking out of the office. Once she was out of there, she ran, skidding in the kitchen and stumbling towards the new car. She jammed the keys in the ignition and drove off.

#

Jerry looked at his watch, observing the little hand slowly tick its way around. He figured she deserved at least half an hour as a head start.

See? He could be generous.


	10. Chapter 10

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 10**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Reviews make the writer go faster.<p>

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><p>Amy couldn't believe it. As though things couldn't possibly get any worse in her life, now she was being sexually harassed by a vampire. What the hell was wrong with Jerry? Was this typical behaviour in the Middle Ages, which he still adhered to? Pillage the village. Kill the girl's boyfriend. Then make out with her. Oh, the usual.<p>

OK, so who cared if he was theoretically hot? Very hot. She had not shown any interest in him, she hadn't done anything to make him believe she'd like to kiss him.

And Peter hadn't even told her this might happen, that she might want to buy a really awesome chastity belt.

Vampire ravaging. Fringe benefit?

"What is wrong with him?" she yelled.

Amy turned on the radio both to calm herself down and as a merry 'go to hell' to Jerry.

She'd go somewhere sunny. Australia, perhaps. She'd dye her hair, change her name, start…

"Oh, shit," she muttered noticing she was running low on gas. Peter hadn't bothered filling up the car.

Amy pulled over at the gas station with the little convenience store where she and Jerry had stopped the other night. She'd almost thought he was half-decent the other night. Almost.

She paid for the gas, bought a bottle of mouthwash and asked for the key to the bathrooms, which were in the back.

She could still taste him on her.

The bathroom was pretty icky and she almost tripped over a bucket and a mop that had been left by the door. Amy shoved it away and locked the door.

Then she leaned her hands against the sink and stared into the mirror. She splashed water all over her face and uncapped the mouthwash, taking a big gulp.

She spit it out.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Busy!" she yelled.

Amy began measuring another cup full of mouthwash.

The knock came again, more insistent.

"I said, busy!"

A hand tore through the wood, long nails reaching towards Amy.

Amy screeched, pressing her back against the sink and watched in horror as the door was yanked opening, revealing…

…two guys she'd never seen before.

"What the hell?" she asked. She'd been expecting Jerry.

"Hi," said one of them, showing her his yellowed fangs. "We're here to give you a lift. Gordon wants to talk to ya."

"No, but no thanks."

"No choice in the matter."

Reason said Amy should have bowed her head and gone with them. But she had just escaped a vampire and she was damned if she was going to be kidnapped by some others.

"Sure thing," Amy said.

She splashed the mouthwash in one of the vampire's eyes.

"Argghhhh!"

The vampire touched his eyes, shaking his head. The other one hissed and extended an arm, trying to claw Amy. She ducked and grabbed the first thing she could think of, which turned out to be the rusty bucket laying on the floor. Amy swung it, slamming it against the vampire's head. Then she shoved him aside, managing to rush out.

The car.

She had the gun in the car.

Amy sprinted across the parking lot. She didn't get far.

One of them reached out and grabbed her by her hair. Amy yelped in pain as he began dragging her away.

"Bitch hit me!" the vampire complained.

"Do you mind letting go of my property? You're going to get it dirty."

Amy looked up.

Jerry.

Well.

The vampires giggled. The one that was holding her released her and Amy scrambled back.

"It's old man Jerry!" the vampire she'd sprayed with mouthwash said cheerfully. "Still got it in you, Jerry?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jerry said lazily. "Let's give it a try."

The vampire jumped at him, but Jerry seized him by the shoulder, tossing him against the pavement. His clawed hand rose, ripping the vampire's throat. Then he slammed a hand into the vampire's chest, breaking through strong bones to remove the heart, which he flung away.

As though on his time off he did work as an Aztec priest.

The heart landed next to Amy's foot and she just opened her mouth, looking at it.

Ugh.

The other vampire roared, aiming for Jerry's chest. Nails scratched Jerry's flesh, but he overpowered the thug easily, pressing his face against the pavement, scrapping the flesh off a cheek in the process.

"Listen to me, you little shit," Jerry said. "You tell your boss I'm going to pay him a visit soon."

"You're crazy!"

"Yeah. Now don't be trying to play with my toys again."

He let him go. The vampire stood up, stumbled, and then ran off.

Amy had not moved. She was still staring at the heart.

Jerry's boot fell on it, squishing the organ and splattering Amy's jeans in the process.

"Get in the car," he ordered.

She obeyed without a comment.

#

"Yes, you heard me. Movers. Tomorrow," he said.

"Tomorrow? How am I going–"

"I don't _care_, Peter. You do it. I also want a place in Vegas."

"In Vegas."

Jerry could hear Peter's quickened breathing through the phone line. He was practically wheezing.

"Jerry, you never live in the city. I mean, too many Ruthvens. Too dangerous. It'll be...like a...an...in...insult," he stammered.

"Dangerous is already here," he muttered, setting down the phone.

Amy was leaning against the refrigerator, toying with a pizza-shaped magnet. When he put away the phone she finally looked up at him.

"There should be a bottle of vodka in the cabinet next to you."

Amy blinked and hesitated, but did reach up and found the bottle. She handed it to him.

Jerry took off his shirt and inspected the cut running across his chest. It was shallow. He balled the shirt and unscrewed the bottle of vodka, soaking the fabric with the alcohol.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked.

"Ruthvens are filthy, infectious and polluted."

"Then maybe we should go to the hospital."

"Really?" he said, chuckling.

He pressed the shirt-turned-rag against his chest and felt the slight burning from the vodka. Jerry shook his head and tossed her back the rag, observing how the skin began to knit itself back together.

"No need."

Amy had been awfully quiet on the ride back. She also had this distressed expression on her face, as though she were Lilllian Gish in one of those old-timey silent films. She twisted the rag between her hands.

"I'm sorry," she blurted.

Jerry raised an eyebrow at her. "Sorry for what?"

"You know…getting you banged up by other vampires."

"I'm hardly 'banged up.' Besides, I thought you wanted to bury me in concrete."

"Well…yeah. I still feel bad, though."

Jerry tilted his head, carefully measuring Amy's expression. She had a nervous eagerness punctuated with fear. He shrugged.

"Let me explain something to you Amy: duty and emotion are two separate things. You can hate me as much as you want, as long as you serve me well. That's what matters."

He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a beer and headed towards the living room.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Jerry turned around, leaning against the door frame. He smirked.

"I wanted to"

"You can't always do whatever you want."

"Why not?"

Amy raised a hand, as if to provide an eloquent answer. Then she dropped it. She raised it again.

"It doesn't work like that," she said lamely.

"You'll have to enlighten me on that point."

"Ugh. Look, you can't go acting like a caveman, hitting a girl on the head with a stick, then slinging her over your shoulder and dragging her back to a cave."

"Really?" he asked, with wide-eyed mockery. "Look darling, if I ever feel the urge to sling you over my shoulder and drag you to my cave, you'll know it. And _that_ was far from cave-dragging. Besides, if you didn't like it, why do you want me to do it again?"

She took two steps forward, fists clenched.

"I don't want you to do it again, you psycho!"

Jerry leaned forward, sniffing close to her neck.

"That's not what it smells like."

Amy crossed her arms. She blushed. She glared. But she didn't deny it. Jerry whistled as he walked towards the couch.


	11. Chapter 11

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 11**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Reviews water the brain<p>

* * *

><p>Peter walked around the apartment, pointing to the tinted windows.<p>

"There's no furniture. Then again, all I used this for was storage."

Amy went around a bunch of crates. The apartment was filled with junk of all sorts. She had peeked in the bedrooms and discovered they did not even have any mattresses. They did have a very big television in the living room and a white rug. God forbid Jerry should miss his shows.

"Why can't I live with you?" Amy asked. "I don't want to stay with him."

"I've earned my longer leash. Besides, Ginger might object to it."

"Who's Ginger?"

"The lady who already lives with me. Well…lives there some of the time."

"Please."

"Did he bite you again? Is that why you're so nervous?"

"No," Amy muttered, sitting down and tugging at the white rug. "He kissed me."

Peter was unscrewing the cap from a silver liquor flask when she spoke. The cap fell and rolled next to Amy.

"What the…did you kiss him back?"

"No," Amy said, wishing she wasn't blushing at the thought.

"But you didn't make out with him, did you?"

"Um, I'd rather make out with _you_ first."

"Gee, don't say it like it would be torture," Peter muttered, taking a sip of booze.

Amy sighed.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know. He kissed me, I drove off, then we bumped into these two crazy Ruthven vampires. He beat them and then we got back home. Then he said he could…smell me. It was creepy. What if he tries to make another pass at me? I don't think I can mace him and call the cops."

"He's not going to force himself on you. "

"Yeah, he kind of forced the point of biting on me," Amy said.

"Look, just don't let him talk you into getting out of your pants," Peter said. "As my grandmother used to say: feet down, knees together."

"Can vampires even…do it?"

"Yeah."

"But they're dead."

"And werewolves can turn into wolves. I never got that."

"There are werewolves?"

"Zombies too," Peter said. "But they don't rot. It's more of the Caribbean version."

Amy stood up and looked out the window. The lights of the city twinkled all around them, bright neon colors splashing in the night. Vegas was alive and pulsating with life.

And Jerry was hanging around there, somewhere, prowling for his dinner.

She stepped away from the window.

"Jerry didn't explain why he wanted to move, but if you met some of Ruthvens goons, that explains it. I have to admit, I'm scared shitless right now."

"Why?" Amy asked.

"Because Jerry's in Vegas. He's never lived in the city. Officially, it's not controlled by anyone. Unofficially: the Ruthvens wield the biggest fist. You can't settle in Vegas without paying allegiance to one of the houses. You can come in, just not settle."

"Jerry belongs to a house," Amy said carelessly.

"He hasn't bent a knee to a lord in almost a century. He's a free-agent. A difficult proposition in this town."

"But you live here."

"I'm a familiar. I can do stuff Jerry can't do. Jerry's taking a big, metaphorical dump on Gordon."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. But I've been trying to avoid a vampire battle. It's one reason why I burned those thralls," Peter said, sitting down on the rug and lighting a cigarette.

Amy sat next to him, resting her chin on her knee.

"I thought you burned them so the police wouldn't find them."

"Double purpose. I didn't think Jerry would dare anything without some backup."

"And he's dared it."

"Like I said, the man is going senile."

Peter offered her his flask. Amy hesitated, then grabbed the bottle and took a sip. It was a sweet, fruity drink.

"Why are the Ruthvens so bad?" Amy asked, smacking her lips. "Hey this isn't half bad."

"Midori," he stretched out a hand, taking the flask back. "From the point of view of Jerry, they're bottom-feeders."

"Aren't they vampires like anybody else?"

"They've always been at the bottom of the totem pole. Never had any large territories or much money. The Zaleskas are nobility. Very rich. The Karnsteins have also wielded their share of power. The Ruthvens? They were the poor relatives at the family feast. They didn't like that and about a hundred years ago they figured out a way to fix it."

"How?"

"Interbreeding."

"How?" Amy asked, frowning. "Vampires can't reproduce. Except for that weird house Jerry talked about."

"Technically, they can't. But the bloodline can be polluted. Some diseases, for example, can be acquired by the vampires. It doesn't kill them, but it can change the blood of the vampire and if that happens any children it sires will carry the contaminant."

"Like an STD."

"I suppose you could look at it like that," Peter said. "Vampires have a keen sense of smell. They can smell disease. A vampire would know if he's about to snack on someone who has cancer or the plague, and would likely look for another meal. The Ruthvens didn't. They sought out disease."

"Really? What for?"

"To change the bloodline. To become stronger. But the biggest sin, the one the other vampire houses can't forget: they drank werewolves' blood. The Ruthvens walking around nowadays are a mixture of vampires and werewolves."

The thugs that had attacked her had a very funny face and yellow fangs. It looked their features were squished somewhat, and they had appeared quite ugly in comparison to Jerry who looked, in his normal state, like a rather handsome man.

"But that has given them an advantage. They can move in the daytime for short periods of time and can withstand some of the traditional vampire killing methods. During the past few decades they've become quite powerful. They play dirty and they play rough. Most of the houses are content to turn a blind eye at them rather than facing any attacks from their packs."

"They're like mobsters."

"Yup."

"Jerry is tangoing with monster mobsters."

"Want another sip?"

Amy grabbed the flask, throwing her head back and drinking deeply. A bit of midori dribbled down her chin.

"Just don't get drunk," Peter said.

"Mmm," Amy said grabbing his cigarette and taking a puff. "Let's go play slots."

"With Ruthven's men out there, I'm not going to play anything," Peter said.

"Aw. Then let's get snacks. Do you have more of that liqueur thing?"

"No. But there's beer in the guest room," Peter said.

#

Amy and Peter were laying on the rug with a bowl of Cheetos between them.

Amy laughed. She kicked Peter in the shin.

"Ow,ow,ow," he groaned.

"Did I hit you for real?"

"Yes."

They both laughed. She took off her shoes and tossed them away, flexing her toes. She rested her beer against her chest.

"You should come see my show on Saturday," Peter said. "You can go on stage after it's over."

"Is it a fun show?"

"I kill all the vampires."

They both laughed. Amy tipped her bottle. Beer pooled on the rug.

"Oh, shit, we dirtied his rug," Amy whispered.

"We should clean it up," Peter said.

Amy and Peter stared at each other. Then they broke out in another round of hysterical laughter.

"No, really," Peter said resting a hand against her arm. "I should get paper towels and dry it up."

"Ew. Don't touch me with your Cheetos fingers."

Peter frowned, looking at his hands as though he had just seen them for the very first time.

"They're orange."

"Just don't get the shirt dirty."

Peter grabbed a handful of the cheese curls and tossed them towards Amy.

"You're so dead!"

Amy began tossing cheese curls back at Peter, pelting him with all her strength.

"Ow! You got me in the eye!" he said, rolling dramatically on the floor.

"Death by junk food!"

"Normally I wouldn't mind that my two servants are acting like a couple of toddlers, but you are blocking the only fucking television in the apartment."

Amy turned around and stared at Jerry.

#

The whole scene made Jerry want to vomit. It was so sickly sweet.

"Don't you worry. I'll get a pan," Peter said, struggling to his feet.

"Leave it," Jerry muttered, his shoes crunching over the cheese curls.

"Okay…I'm off," Peter said in a tiny voice.

Jerry grabbed the remote control and switched on the television. The whole living room smelled of beer and melon liqueur.

"I'm sorry. It was completely my fault," Amy said after a little while. "I completely forced the issue."

"You're drunk," Jerry said, without looking at her, his eyes fixed on the TV set.

"Well…it's not like you don't drink beer ALL the time."

"I don't decorate the rug with it."

"We were just having a bit of fun."

He didn't reply.

"You're making me feel bad."

A hand fell on his shoulder. Jerry grabbed her, pulled her down with one swift motion . Amy fell to her knees, her eyes wide.

"Yeah? Guess how I'm feeling," he replied.

Now he was the one talking like a teenager. Having Amy around made him feel young again. And not in the Viagra way. In the unpleasant way which reminded Jerry of himself a few centuries back. He had hated young Jeremiah.

"Sorry."

He gave her a very sharp glare.

Amy brushed a clumsy finger across his lips, frowning.

"Can I look at your fangs?"

"Why?"

"I dunno. "

"No."

"Do you want to hear a secret?" she asked leaning forward.

"What?" Jerry muttered.

"I thought you were cute when I met you. Of course…that bubble sure got popped quickly," she whispered.

He could smell the arousal on her. Jerry was not sure if it was residual, from hanging out with Peter, or if it was meant for him. He brushed her cheekbone with his thumb, pressing his forehead against her own.

He smiled.

"Get out of my living room," he growled.

He heard a bottle roll across the floor as she rushed out in her haste. Then the sound of her door clicking locked and a whimper.


	12. Chapter 12

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 12  
><strong>

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Reviews make me happy. Weee.<p>

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><p>Amy woke up to three surprises. First of all, even though she had fallen asleep shivering on the floor of the empty, cold bedroom, she had somehow ended up in the middle of the living room, on the rug near the fireplace. The window shutters were on, metal blocking out the already dim light of the tinted windows, but she could see thanks to the glow of the fireplace.<p>

The second surprise was the deep sense of sadness and desperation percolating through her body. Amy had been able to keep the sadness at bay. She had not cried over Charley, she had not cried when she went to the juvenile ward. She was angry and despondent and afraid, but that seemed to cauterize the wound and eliminate the grief.

But she woke with misery in her gut. Perhaps it was product of the booze. Perhaps hangovers lead to self-pity. Perhaps it was just a question of time. The shock of everything had to wear off, the adrenaline had to diminish and eventually reality had to sink in.

She felt weak and distraught. She disliked this intensely.

Jerry was by the fire, assembling a puzzle box. Amy thought of quietly stepping out of the living room, but she decided that would be stupid and cowardly. Besides, if she left now she'd end up sniffling over the toilet bowl, crying her eyes out. Biting her lip, she went towards him.

He did not look at her when she scooted closer.

"Why do you like puzzles?" she asked.

" Why do _you _like them?"

Answering a question with a question was rather immature, but she sighed and decided to be the bigger person.

"They keep me focused. Plus, when I was at the hospital there wasn't much to do except make puzzles. Even if they were always missing a few pieces."

"I like them because of the certainty. There is always a definitive outcome."

He handed her the box and stretched his arms, resting back on the carpet. Amy looked at the box's black, lacquered surface. It was so polished she could see her face darkly reflected on it.

"Why are you mopey?" he asked.

"I'm not mopey."

"You are."

"Are you smelling me again?"

" It's not just the smell. There are these little cues that humans take for granted. Dilation of the pupil, heartbeat, perspiration. They all tell you a story."

She wondered what grief smelt like. The aroma of self-pity. She didn't want to ask.

Amy rubbed a finger across the side of the box, tracing the grooves and decorations neatly etched on it.

"Why did you let me live?" she asked. "That night, by the road."

"Eh," Jerry said. " I'm random like that."

"I'm serious. Why kill Charley and his mom and let me go?"

"Mom was collateral damage," Jerry said, turning his head and giving her a lazy glance. "Charley was going to be trouble. I gave him a chance and he threw it away. I had to nip it in the bud."

"What trouble? He was a kid."

"I've learned to recognize the type. The fearless vampire killer. Next thing you know, some asshole is trying to torch you in your sleep."

"It's not like you don't deserve it."

"Mmm," he said lifting a hand and placing it upon her fingers, showing her how to flip the box and slide one of the pieces into place.

A soft click and the box began to play a tune.

" You on the other hand had survivor written all over your face. It's kind of the same look Peter had when I met him. His face said: I'll do anything to live. I like that because _I _will do anything to live. It's always good to be in the company of like-minded people."

"We're not like you. And if you had a shred of decency you'd let us go on with our lives in peace. Don't you remember what it was like to be human? To be normal? Why can't we have that?"

"What is normal?" Jerry said sitting up and looking straight into her eyes. "I remember normal, yes. Normal was dead by the age fifty. Normal was you go to battle at sixteen. Normal was take the kiddies to a hanging because it's free entertainment. Besides, you don't _want_ normal."

Amy scoffed.

"How would you know?"

"Sixth sense," he tapped his head and smiled. "I can feel it. Just like I know you want to fuck me right now. I wasn't sure last night, but I'm sure now."

"You're wrong on two counts," she muttered.

"Oh, I'm right. It's just all that moralistic wiring inside your head. You think you'll go to hell. You'll be a bad person."

"Yeah, well I am sure fucking a killer does get you into some circle of hell," she shot back.

"You're mixing stuff again," Jerry said with a sigh. "Emotions don't have to play into this. Or rather not the kind of emotion you're trying to find. You don't like me much, but you still want to have sex with me. So what?"

"I hate you."

"Yeah, well, the more you hate me, the more it itches, no?" he asked, a long nail dancing down her arm, hitting her wrist.

The melody finished playing. Amy stared at the box, trying to avoid his eyes.

The sadness was ebbing. It was being pummeled by the sheer desire to rip him apart and another darker, sweeter desire pooling in her mouth.

"Well, if I need a quick fuck I better call Petey," she said in a singsong voice.

His reaction was swifter than she expected. One second Amy was smiling, pleased with herself, then she was flat on her back and his mouth was on hers.

She kissed him back, but she also bit him. Hard enough to taste blood. He chuckled, sounding pleased with himself.

The blood hit her fast. The same languid feeling which had overtaken her the first time, only this time it was laced with splinters of lust. Amy tried to take off her shirt, but he tore it from her shoulders before she could begin to unbutton it.

Amy wiggled out of her jeans, feeling the rug under her bare skin. His hands were tight on her thigh, then roamed up her abdomen, her arms. He tangled a hand in her hair, pulling her head back and baring her slender neck.

"Are you going to bite me?" she asked.

His eyes were black and she could feel his nails scrapping her flesh.

"Yes."

"Then do it."

He bit into the side of her neck and the third surprise was the euphoria the pain brought.

Puzzles kept her focused. This gave her a different kind of focus. There was no space to think twice, to be sad, to regret. It was all desire and fierceness, and his mouth over hers. She zeroed on his hands and the weight of him and blocked out the rest.

She had to break him. Hurt him. Hurt herself. This was the only way she knew how.

She bit him again, hard enough to draw blood even though she had no fangs, and the taste was wild and sweet. She traced red letters against his skin.

#

Jerry wanted to laugh. A selfish, content laugh as her rested his chin against her back, flipped the hair off her shoulders and wondered if he should scratch the left or the right shoulder blade. A little reminder. A light tracery of nails to mark her.

She's his now.

#

He's missed a couple of pieces in this puzzle.

Of course she isn't.


	13. Chapter 13

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 13**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Reviews are chocolate for the soul.<p>

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><p>Amy wrapped one towel around her mid-section and dried her hair with another.<p>

She didn't feel weird or ashamed. It was done. She'd had sex with him, and so what? The sadness had drifted away and her familiar resolution had returned.

Amy tilted her chin up and examined the bite mark at her neck. It was tiny. Hardly noticeable. She picked a shirt, a jacket and a pair of pants and drifted into the kitchen, hoping Peter had stocked something more than Cheetos for her consumption.

He'd left apples.

Amy grabbed one and leaned back against the refrigerator.

"I need you to deliver a message for me."

Amy looked up at him. Jerry, still shirtless, had a letter in his hands. It had a red wax seal and everything.

"Where am I going?"

"This casino," he said handing her a cellphone. "Just wait there and they'll come for you. You will wait for an answer to the letter. When you are done, phone me."

Amy looked at the cellphone. On the screen there was a little dot on a map.

"Should I ask Peter to go with me?"

"No."

She expected him to say something else. When he didn't, she stepped out.

#

Amy stood in the casino, feeling lost. Blinking, musical machines glittered left and right. Poker chips clattered in the distance. She spotted a group of Japanese convention goers walking around with nametags and three Elvis impersonators sipping drinks.

Then she saw him. Ed.

He still looked like the scrawny, geeky Ed she'd known, but he'd outfitted himself in a gray business suit with a crimson tie. Black, shiny shoes. Two goons as companions.

The goons had ugly faces. Woolfish grins.

Amy did not blink. She held her ground.

"Amy Peterson," Ed said. "I remember you. You were Charley's little skank. Found yourself a new guy?"

Yeah. It was Ed. She could recognize his taunts, once barely-whispered, now loud and clear.

"Mr. Dandrige has sent me to deliver this message," she said, showing him the envelope.

She would not call him Jerry. Not in front of Ed or the likes of him.

"Why don't we kill her now?" asked one of the goons.

Spending time in a psychiatric hospital and with a vampire does have one benefit: it teaches you how to keep your cool. Amy gave the vampire a derisive stare.

"In front of everyone? At least have some class."

The other vampire giggled.

"Come on upstairs."

Ed began to walk. Amy followed, a goon on each side. They walked into the elevator and Ed pressed the button for the top floor, sliding a card into a slot.

Amy watched the little floor numbers light up in red and felt her stomach churning, but she tried to relax.

They'd smell fear.

She focused on anger as her emotion of choice. Anger because Jerry had sent her here and she'd just realized she was swimming in a tank full of sharks.

The doors opened onto a long, white-tiled hallway. She followed Ed, eyes straight ahead. He pushed open a pair of black double-doors. They were in a modern-looking office, all chrome and minimalist design. A guy sat behind a desk. He tilted his chair to look at them when they walked in.

He had gray hair and his face was pitted with scars. His mouth had an ugly slant to it. Again, there was that wolfish quality about him, though if one looked only at the face it would be difficult to say what created this impression of animalism.

"You have a caller," Ed said. "Dandrige's newest acquisition is paying us a visit."

"The girl. What is the name?" the man asked.

"Amy Peterson."

"Amy," the man said resting his elbows against his desk and pressing his hands together. "I am Gordon Ruthven."

"I've come to give you a letter," she said.

She stepped forward, placing the letter on his desk. He ignored it, instead rising and moving towards a table where a chess set had been placed.

"Do you play chess, Miss Peterson?" Gordon asked as he brushed the pieces with his fingers, long nails tapping a pawn.

"Not really."

"I'm addicted to it. People of your generation might find it quaint. Boring. But it is exciting to choose the perfect move, to strike the perfect blow."

"I need to give him an answer."

"Of course you do."

Gordon ripped the letter open with a nail, scanning the contents.

He spoke, his eyes still on the paper. "I don't know if you're naïve or just plain stupid to be giving this to me. I kill the messengers of such news. It's a little tradition of mine."

"You should come up with some new traditions, then," she said. "Jerry will rip your gullet if you do."

"If he cared about you, he wouldn't have sent you all alone to meet us."

"Then cut the bullshit and make it quick."

There was an unpleasing silence. The vampires looked at each other, expectant. Then Gordon laughed. He crumpled the letter in his left fist.

"Tell Dandrige I accept," he said. "Now go, little girl."

Amy stepped back, the heels of her boots clicking upon the floor. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground button. Once the elevator started moving, she slid to the floor and let her breath out.

#

"I wanted to kill her," Ed said, his voice whinny.

"Not today."

"Why not? You said it yourself. If he cared one bit about her, he'd have sent someone else."

"You don't understand Jerry. He's a soldier. He thinks about battlefields. You know the number rule of battle?" Gordon said, looking at the younger vampire.

Ed shrugged.

"Deceive the enemy. He wants me to think this is a pawn."

He held up a white pawn for Ed to see.

"But pawns become queens."

"Then why not keep his queen? Now. When we had her," Ed replied angrily.

"Rules of the game," Gordon said. "I can't hurt his familiar when he's issued a challenge."

"Then, what? You'll face him in combat?"

"Pride, Edward," Gordon said. "Pride has always been Dandrige's downfall. We take his queen. We take his knight. He'll come to us then, break the rules. Who knows what happens when a vampire does that?"

"If you kidnap them, then _you_ will break the rules."

"I'm not kidnapping anybody," Gordon said. "I am a good boy."

Gordon slid a white knight and a queen into Edward's hands.

"But Edward…why if one of his own should do it…such an abomination, to have your own child turn against you…but in that case, that may be another story. He sired you. And you're still Karnstein."

"By a technicality."

"My dear boy," Gordon said, smiling. "I live by technicalities."

#

Amy grabbed the phone and looked for Jerry's number. It rang thrice before he answered.

"He accepted," Amy said, walking quickly, threading her way through the slot machines.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. You are an asshole. You sent me by myself!"

"I knew you could deal with it."

"Thanks. I'll be back later," she muttered and hung up on him.

Amy headed into the parking lot, got into the car and closed the door shut. She slammed her hand against the horn in anger.

He could have gotten her killed.

Dipshit.

She glanced down and saw that the gun she had been carrying in the car was still resting on the floor.

She needed to buy a purse.

She also needed to do some research.

Amy looked at the cellphone, pulling up Peter's address.

#

It was terribly easy to gain access to Peter's penthouse, this despite a guard who was supposed to wave people in. Apparently Peter had a lot of female friends and all Amy had to do was begin with a "I'm Amy…" for her to be allowed to continue her path.

She opened the door and stepped into a large room full of glass cases. Amy stopped to peer into one which had a large chalice, then continued on her way.

Peter was not around. Neither was his girlfriend, Ginger. Had she been there, Amy supposed she could have cooked some bogus story about herself. But she was in luck.

Amy went into Peter's office, which was very large and had an astounding amount of books and papers. His desk was covered with more books, notebooks, files. She sat down before the computer and noticed the empty bottle of Midori by the keyboard.

Amy booted up the computer and began looking through the Internet. She also checked his files and started pulling books from the shelves.

"Ruthvens," she muttered, sliding her finger across a page. "Immune to daylight for short periods of time. Immune to holy water. Immune to garlic."

She flipped a page, pausing over an illustration.

"Allergic to silver."

Amy kept on reading as the sun went down. She paused to get some food, snacking on a can of spam and a glass of cola. Then she headed back into his office. The words began to blur with each other, every weird Latin term mixing in her head. She checked the list she had made.

"Holy…hey, what are you doing here?"

Amy raised her head. Peter was looking at her. He was dressed in black pants and a shirt that was open half-way down the middle, showing multiple tattoos. He also had tattoos on his neck, a goatee and black hair. His eyes were painted with black eyeliner. He looked very different from regular Peter and she didn't think she liked him much like that.

"Planning an exit strategy," she said, switching the computer off. "What are _you_ doing here? The security guard said you had a show and were not in."

"I had rehearsal and show. It's over now. It's eleven o'clock."

Amy looked up at the clock on the wall. Indeed it was. She hadn't even noticed.

"Shit. I should head back to the apartment," she said.

"I'll take you. You shouldn't be out by yourself."

"Don't worry," Amy said pulling the antique gun from her newly purchased purse and holding it up. "I have this."

"Hey, don't point that at me. Where'd you get Jerry's silver bullet gun?"

"It has silver bullets?" Amy said. "Even better."

She dropped the gun back in her purse. When she looked up Peter was frowning.

"What?"

"What happened to your neck? It's bruised."

Amy raised a hand, touching the place were Jerry had bitten her. When she'd left the apartment she only had two little puncture marks. She lifted a large letter opener, the metal reflecting her neck.

It definitely looked like a bruise. Dark purple and ugly, though not very large. She touched it and it felt warm and tender. She should have realized this before, but she had been so absorbed with her research, she hadn't even paused to acknowledge the discomfort.

Peter's eyes boiled with anger.

"He bit you again, didn't he? Oh, damn it. I will tell him—"

"You'll tell him nothing. I let him do it."

"Why would you do that?"

Amy opened her mouth, ready with a very clinical explanation but Peter's eyes grew very wide and startled.

"You screwed him!"

"Yes."

"How?"

"With the usual parts. Do you want me to draw you a picture?"

"Really! You don't even know him!"

"Look Mr. Slutty MacSlutty, if you're going to cast the first stone you better pray I don't throw a boulder back at you. How many women you barely knew have you had sex with in the last six months?"

Peter did not say a word, though he did glower at her.

"Fine. Can I ask why?"

"Because I'm not the girl who screams for help when the monster comes to get her. Jerry is right about something: I am a survivor."

"So to survive you fuck Jerry?"

"Jerry likes to play games, Pete. If he wants to, fine. I'll do it. It doesn't mean he wins."

"How doesn't he win if he gets what he wants?"

"He doesn't have what he wants."

Amy understood something about Jerry now: he was greedy. He wanted the whole puzzle, so he could pull the pieces and tumble it open. But you can't do that if you're missing some pieces. Which he was. He didn't have her heart.

Amy, on the other hand, had what she needed: focus.

"If I were you, I wouldn't tango with Jerry," Peter said. "You think you're in control? You're not."

"He isn't either. It puts us on a level plane."

"Amy Peterson with her silver gun and her complex, odd thoughts," Peter muttered, placing a hand over her shoulder. "You scare the crap out of me sometimes, do you know that?"

"Maybe. But don't worry. Crazy Amy always has your back."

His expression did not soften. It was still anxious, as though he was a kid and she'd just told him there was a boogeyman living in his closet.

She squeezed his fingers.

"I'm not weak, Pete. You don't have to fear for me."

"I know you're not weak," he said, sadly. "That's what scares me the most."


	14. Chapter 14

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 13**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Reviews bring inspiration.<p>

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><p>"Here we are. Another maiden safely delivered to her door, courtesy of the Master of Dark Forces," Peter said.<p>

"Petey, I'm not a maiden."

"Another sex maniac safely delivered to her door, courtesy of the Master of Dark Forces."

"Haha," Amy said as she grabbed her keys.

Amy opened the door and turned to look at him. Peter had taken off his makeup and looked like Peter again, with his short brown hair and his pleasant smile.

"Oh, are you coming tomorrow for _Fright Night_? You've got to. It has action, romance and you get a guaranteed happy ending. You can't miss Friday's _Fright Night_. It's special."

"Why's Friday _Fright Night_ so special?" she asked.

"Audience interaction night. People who are in the first few rows get to go on stage. I'll know where you are, so in the last act you can go up there and be one of the Vampire Vixens in the cages."

"Vixen, hu?"

"Only for the last act."

"Sure. I'll have to tell Mr. Fangs I'm going, but sure."

"Get there an hour before the show starts and wait for me next to the gigantic Peter Vincent display. I'll give you the tickets then."

"There's a gigantic Peter Vincent display?"

"You bet there is," he said, walking backwards so he could keep facing her. "All the world's a stage and I'm on a huge banner."

"You have a huge ass, too."

"Have you been checking my ass?"

"Night, Petey," she said waving.

Amy locked the door. The apartment was still empty of all furniture. She tossed her bag on the floor, then headed to the living room.

Jerry had muted the television and was just staring at the images.

"Fun day at the office, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Yeah. I spent it doing research and going through some files, and, oh what else…" Amy snapped her fingers. "Yes, surviving an encounter with a pack of angry vampires. Next time you want me dead, please kill me yourself, asshole!"

She grabbed the cellphone and tossed it at his head. It didn't hit him. Jerry caught it without even looking in her direction.

"What are you yapping about?"

"Hint, _sweetheart_: I could see how Ed was picking the wine sauce he was going to eat me with and the talk was 'let's kill her now' or 'let's wait until we've made the gravy.'"

Amy peeled off her jacket, balled it up and tossed it at him. Missed. Ugh! Why wasn't there any furniture! There was nothing else she could throw or break. Frustrated, Amy stomped on the rug.

Jerry stood up and turned thoughtful, measured eyes towards her.

"Are you done with your tantrum?"

Amy did not bother answering him. She sat down and crossed her arms.

"I'm not sure what kind of research you did today, but if you'd bothered checking the _Codex_ you might have realized that after a vampire has issued a formal challenge, the other vampire cannot attack him or his familiars."

"So what, you just insured me and Peter?"

"We'll all be fine until my duel with Gordon."

"Your duel," she said picturing men with wigs and pistols at dawn. It couldn't be at dawn. Maybe at midnight.

"We're old fashioned about so many things."

"And you can win?"

"Probably."

"What happens to us if you lose?"

Jerry gave her another of his lazy, disinterested looks. "Then I suppose you die. Think of it this way: you get to go to heaven with your master."

"From the bottom of my heart, Jerry, I want to thank you for completely fucking my life."

"Don't forget fucking you."

Amy tried to kick him. A futile exercise from the beginning because he simply grabbed her leg before it made contact with his body and spun her around, pressing her back against the wall.

"Sorry, Amy," he said, "my shows don't come with guaranteed happy endings."

He rubbed his face against her chest, the same way a cat rubs his head against a person to mark his territory. She supposed perhaps he _was_ marking her.

"Were you listening in on us?"

"Superior senses. Not my fault."

"Why wait for the duel? Why don't you just fucking _die now_."

He lifted her up and Amy hooked her legs around his waist. He kissed her and it was hard and angry and long. She scratched him and when he broke the kiss, Amy placed a finger in her mouth, tasting the blood and skin caught beneath her fingernails.

It hit her fast, the luxuriating taste of him which sent a shiver down her spine.

He grinned at Amy, then kissed her again.

#

It was the old dream. The road, Amy running. Then Amy in her bed at the juvenile ward and Jerry slinking close to her, fangs bared. Only this time he didn't kill her. He wrapped his arms around her and they were having sex.

She hugged him. But then this dream slipped and she was alone, laying in the dark. She tried to get up but she couldn't. She was trapped in a very small space. A coffin.

Amy began pounding against it. It would not budge.

She screamed for help, but no one came.

Caught in absolute darkness, all she could do was breath.

#

"Christ!"

She sat up and pressed her hands against her mouth. She was on the rug, by the fireplace and Jerry was beside her.

Not a coffin.

Not in darkness.

But she could still sense the darkness, like a film clinging to her skin.

She felt Jerry's hand on her bare thigh.

"It's just a memory," he said.

She remembered what Peter said, about sharing a connection with Jerry. Flashes of his life.

Amy looked at him, eyes wide. "What kind of memory is _that_?"

"Being buried."

"What? When?"

"1940."

Jerry brushed the hair from her eyes, tucking a lock behind her ear. There was no concern in his eyes, but there was interest, as though he'd caught himself a pretty little beetle and was now putting it under the magnifying glass.

"How did that happen?"

"Not by my own volition. It was Gordon Ruthven, getting back at me for almost slicing his head off a few decades before."

"Why did you do that?"

"Orders from my liege," Jerry said with a shrug, as though he had been asked to file some papers or toss out the garbage. "Yes, I was a vassal. I served him well since they day he plucked me from the field of battle. When the Ruthvens began their little blood experiments the order was to put a stop to it. Exterminate the ringleaders."

"And Gordon was a ringleader."

"Indeed. But you know how politics are. At the last minute my lord decides Gordon shouldn't die after all. We will have a cessation of hostilities. Gordon gets to keep his head. It didn't sit well with me. I bid my liege goodbye."

"You mean you quit your job? Just like that?"

"Well, after six-hundred years one has the right to a retirement, no?"

Six-hundred. Amy calculated his age in her head and the total she came up with should not have been entirely unexpected, but it was still a bit shocking to know that the man running his hands through her hair had lived for such a very long time.

"And then? What happened?"

"I enjoy the life of a free agent, roaming here and there," he said. "But Gordon had not forgotten. Gordon was growing his power base, changing the bloodline. One day, Gordon attacks. First he kills my former lord, the man who had ordered him hunted down. Then, he goes after me."

"How?" Amy asked in a whisper.

She didn't really want to know. Not anymore. But she felt compelled to ask. When you begin a puzzle, you must finish it until you've fitted every part.

"He has a steel coffin made. It is decorated, inside and out, with holy symbols and words."

She thought she could see it in her mind, so vividly. And maybe she could, blood connection and all. A massive, oblong box. It gleamed. It was majestic.

"He captures me, puts me in it, and the he lowers it into the ground. And I lay there in the dark, but I can still hear the world above. There are bombings. The war is happening. The ground shivers and trembles constantly and I wonder what happens if a bomb falls down, right onto me. But eventually it is quiet, and that is worse than the noise, because there is nothing left except the dark."

She can see it. The darkness. The small, narrow space in the ground. The quiet as she listens to the worms crawling in the earth above.

"You did not die?"

"We can sleep for a long time. So I sleep. But in this dream of death no dreams may come. Because I can still feel and hear everything."

"And then?"

"Time passes. Crews arrive. The cemetery is being moved, something new is being built, the coffins are jostled from their places and…"

…and she sees it. The night. The rain. The workers dropping the coffin and the coffin falls and the rusty lock opens. Something jumps out, tears them apart and rushes through the cemetery.

It is far from human. It is just instinct.

It keeps running, searching for nourishment. It zeroes in on a warm heartbeat, then another.

It tears into the house; it kills them all. It licks its fingers with greedy glee. It searches for more food, more blood and then it looks up and sees a young man. Well, a teenager. His eyes are huge and terrified.

_Please. I want to live_, the boy whispers.

Something shifts inside its head. Pieces align. Those are the same words he said on the battlefield, before he was turned.

And he smiles, scratching the boy's throat. _You're going to help me_.

"Peter," she muttered.

The hand that had been comfortably running through her hair went still. Jerry frowned.

"That's how you met Peter," she said.

"Yes. And that is how I woke up to a new world order. A place where the Ruthvens now dominate many of the major cities of the world and the other houses, the great Zaleskas and the Karnsteins, are happy to dance to someone else's tune."

"But not you."

"I'm about to change the whole freaking song, darling."

Amy laid down again and turned her body towards him, her hands brushing his chest.

"How can you win? He defeated you once."

"By cheating. Even then, I came back."

"Yeah, after like decades."

"Don't look so glum. Don't you want me dead?"

"Not like that. Never like that."

"You're too kind to wild animals and hopeless drunkards," he said as he caught her hand and nipped the wrist. Not hard. Just a little touch. "Too much of a good heart."

"I'm not kind," she muttered.

Neither kind nor good. Just selfish. A little tough. A little wrong in the head, obviously.

"You saw Ed at Ruthven's place?" he asked, releasing her hand. "How's the little bastard?"

"Yeah. He was there. Same smarmy face. Why did you ever turn him into a vampire?"

"I felt sorry for the kid. I have a weakness for damaged things."

Amy supposed that also counted for her.

But then Peter was also fractured.

And she knew now the same could be said of Jerry.

The three of them were joined by the cracks running down their bodies and the sheer desire to glue themselves back together again.

She didn't like thinking she had much in common with Jerry, but she could admit to that.

"I've noticed," she replied.

"Don't worry, my pretty little Venus de Milo," he said. "I'm sure that even if I lose you'll find your way out of this bind."

He pulled her until she was lying on top of him, her legs draped on either side of his thighs. He ran a hand down her back.

"Just promise me one thing: you are going to remember me after I'm dead."

Amy squirmed, feeling his fingers splayed upon her back.

The first thing she thought was: how the hell could she forget him? He was burned into her brain. Even decades of therapy back at the hospital wouldn't wash this off. She didn't want to say that. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Oh, and you won't run away with fucking Peter Vincent," he added.

"That's two promises," Amy said, kissing his temple. "Sorry. You're going to have to live."

He kissed her savagely and when his lips slipped from her mouth, she threw her head back, baring her neck for him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 15**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>I need more reviews for that final stretch. Give them. :)<p>

* * *

><p>Amy looked at herself in the mirror. The bruise on her neck was rather ugly. She would have to cover it if she intended to go out that night.<p>

Amy pressed a finger against the puncture marks, feeling the tender skin there.

He didn't make a sound but she still knew he was there, looking at her from the hallway.

"I won't turn, will I? You've bitten me and given me your blood three times."

"No. You'd have to beg me."

She turned her head. She was naked and he gave her an appreciative leer. Modesty, at this point, was out of the question, but she still blushed, more in anger than anything else.

"If you tell me you love me I'll turn you into a true-blood vampire," he said, moving quickly to her side and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I'd rather chew my own arm off."

He chuckled darkly.

"You have no sense of humor."

"I have to go shopping for a dress for tonight," she said, disentangling herself from his embrace and grabbing the clothes she had carelessly tossed on the floor before stepping into the shower.

"It's a stupid show. Not the opera."

"So?"

Amy zipped up her jeans and pulled on a t-shirt.

"I take it you are not going to _Fright Night_ with me?"

"Boring."

"Well then," she said, slipping on her shoes, "I'll see you later."

He caught her before she could step out of the bathroom, his hands resting around her neck, his thumb sliding up and down and touching the bruised skin.

"Have a nice day," he whispered.

It sounded like a threat instead of the genuine article, but what the hell. He wasn't going to spoil her good mood.

#

Amy's first stop was a company that specialized in the sale of chemistry supplies. She asked for silver nitrate. It came in a little plastic tube. She stuffed it in her handbag, snug next to the gun. Just in case. She figured the Ruthvens were their major concern, not regular vampires, so there was no point in packing garlic and stakes. And yes, Jerry said they were safe now but Amy could not eliminate her paranoia.

She went to a department store and stopped at the makeup counter. After a couple of unsuccessful tries she realized makeup could not cover the bruise, so she opted to hide it. Amy was able to find a wide, black velvet choker, which she tied around her neck. Then she bought a simple, little black dress and black heels.

When she returned, she was dreadfully tired. Blood loss, she the time spent awake at night with Jerry.

He was asleep, of course. On the carpet. Amy realized she should have bought a couch before heading back, but she was too exhausted to care.

She thought about Charley as she slipped off her shoes. Her lack of guilt over her whole sordid relationship with Jerry and her numbness, her incapacity to even shed a tear for Charley at this time, troubled her. She was growing very pragmatic and definitely more indifferent. She supposed this would guarantee her survival.

At what price?

Amy wondered if Peter felt a bit like that. His heart all dull and scabbed.

Jerry didn't think much of Peter, but for Amy, he was the only real, human thing she had.

She dozed on the carpet, next to Jerry. They definitely needed to buy furniture. On the other hand, his body provided a firm but comfortable place against which she could rest her head.

While she slept, she could have sworn he touched her hair and kissed her, very gently. Very un-Jerry. But when she woke up it was night and he was gone.

Amy dressed, put on her makeup and headed out.

Dark, hungry eyes followed her every footstep.

#

"This stake is made out of rubber," Amy said.

They were standing on stage, after the show.

Amy wore jeans all the time and he had not had a good look at her legs until now. They were long and lean, and as pretty as every other part of Miss Peterson. For a change, she had also put on a deep, red lipstick and a smoky eye shadow.

She looked very beautiful.

"Look," Amy said tapping him on the arm with the stake. "It's bendy."

"Of course. It's a prop."

"It's so weird looking at you like this, all in costume."

"My crotch is itchy."

Amy raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not in that way," he clarified. Then he glanced at her bare shoulders. "Fine. Maybe a little in that way."

Amy bent down, returning the stake to its place on the floor where she'd found it and he got an eyeful of cleavage.

"Maybe a lot in that way."

"Petey," she said, playfully tugging at his arm.

"Do you want to eat a lobster with me?"

"A whole lobster?"

"And about a pound of caviar. I can be your sugar daddy for the night."

She smiled. For a couple of familiars who were in danger of being cooked for breakfast if Jerry lost his duel, things were looking pretty good at the moment. Then the lights went off, until there was only one light left and they were standing under it. Shit.

"Hey!" Peter said. "We're still here! Flip them on again!"

He waited for the technician to obey his command, but nothing happened. He should have known. The whole staff was incompetent.

"Come on, let's go kill that lobster," he muttered, grabbing Amy's hand.

A shrill laughter echoed through the theater, bouncing menacingly off the walls. Peter stopped in his tracks.

"What's that?" he muttered.

The darkness of the stage was foreboding. Anything could be waiting there. Peter was afraid of escaping their little pool of light and venturing into this darkness. His grip around Amy's hand tightened.

"Let's go," Amy whispered.

"I"m not moving."

Something flew at them. It landed on Peter, shoving him to the floor with a loud thud. Peter shrieked, raising his hands, trying to protect himself from the vampire which was trying to bite his face off.

Ed.

He managed to land a punch before Ed caught his hand and began squeezing it, making Peter holler in pain.

"Let him go!" Amy yelled.

Peter realized that she still had the gun she had taken from Jerry. She was pointing it at Ed. She pulled the trigger and actually hit Ed twice. But Ed seemed indifferent. He raised a clawed hand, growling.

"Shoot again and I'll cut off his balls," he muttered. "You just messed my suit."

"It didn't work," Amy said. "Why didn't it work?"

"Silver, you fool," Ed replied.

"But you're one of his pack!"

"Not yet. Gordon will offer me his blood after I have given him Jerry on a platter. And you two are going to help me do just that. I'll be Gordon's right hand man, not some little errand boy for Jerry Dandridge. Now drop the gun."

Amy didn't move a muscle. She raised the gun a little more instead, aiming at Ed's head. Ed laughed.

"Give me the gun or I will kill him. I'm not officially part of Gordon's pack. I'm not bound by these stupid Medieval duels. I can kill him. And I will."

Amy didn't say a thing, though her face went paler than pale.

She dropped the gun and kicked it in Ed's direction. The little punk pocketed it, then turned around and gave Peter this awful, toothy smile.

"Why don't you invite us upstairs to your penthouse, Peter. Maybe we can chat a little bit. Like old friends should."

"Peter, don't," Amy said.

But all Peter could think about was the sharpness of Ed's fangs and the length of his claws. He gulped, bobbing his head.

"Yes, you're welcome to go upstairs to my place. Very welcome."

"That's what I like to hear," Ed said.

He pulled Peter up and placed a hand on his shoulders, then grabbed Amy and did the same.

"We are going to have ourselves a party. Do you mind if I invite some friends over?"

"Not at all," Peter squealed.

"Good. This is going to be some Friday, hu guys?" Ed asked.

He laughed again. The high-pitched laugh which made Peter grimace.


	16. Chapter 16

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 16**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>About four more chapters. Keep the reviews coming.<p>

* * *

><p>Ed shoved them into the living room, pointing at a couch.<p>

"Sit," he said.

Amy folded her hands and stared at Peter, biting her lip and trying to think.

Exit strategy.

But what if there was no exit strategy?

"Yeah," Ed said holding up his cellphone. "You can come over."

He tucked the phone away and moved towards the bar, grabbing a bottle and pouring himself a drink.

"Do you want one?" he asked them. "You, Peter? I know you want one."

Peter did not answer. If only they could grab some of Peter's weapons...but Ed would pounce on them if they moved and he had her gun to boot.

Ed went back by their side, a glass in his hand.

"I'm sorry another one of your boyfriend's has to die, Amy. But hey, it's not like you won't have a new one next week," Ed said taking a sip. "Let's face it. You're a bit of a skank."

"And you've got no spine. Jerry turns you and just a few months later you're going over to the competition? Talk about loyalty. Aren't vampires into loyalty?"

"That's old school," Ed said. "We're redefining the world. Old tossers like Jerry just don't fit into it. Plus, he just kind of pissed me off. Too fucking bossy."

"He's going to kill you," Amy said firmly.

"He and what army?" Ed asked.

Amy looked away. They were dead. They were all fucking dead.

"Golden boy," Gordon said as he strolled in, wearing a sharp suit and tie.

Ten goons accompanied him. Ten very big, very intimidating looking goons. One of them was carrying a sword. Jesus. Only in Vegas.

"Miss Peterson," Gordon said grabbing both of her hands between his. "It's so good to see you. And Peter Vincent. You know, I've seen your act. I found it very amusing. Now, let's revise your options..."

Gordon sat down across from them.

"Ed here can cut off your thumbs and courier them to Jerry. Then, when Jerry gets the message, he comes in guns blazing and tries to rescue you. You die a horrible, horrible death."

"What's the other option?" Amy asked dryly.

"You phone Jerry. You tell him everything is OK. He comes over, never suspecting something is amiss. He dies a horrible death."

"What are the other houses going to say about that?" Amy asked. "Aren't they going to be a bit pissed that you killed Jerry."

"We are friendly guests at Peter's home," Gordon said innocently. "We didn't do anything. I mean, Ed isn't a member of my house, so whatever he told you downstairs _I_ had nothing to do with it. We are all getting along, chatting and Jerry just comes in and goes crazy when he sees us."

"That's bullshit," Amy said. "Nobody's going to believe you."

"But it's the truth. It's what is going to happen. He is going to break the rules. Not us. Now, the question is: do you want your thumbs cut off or not? Because if you nicely convince him to come over, then maybe you can walk away."

"I guess it's easier to kill him when he's not expecting it," Amy said, smirking.

"Of course."

Amy turned towards Peter. Peter just had this glazed look over his eyes, like a pig before the slaughter. Maybe he wasn't so far off.

Survival. That's what matters, no? That's what Jerry had said.

He had killed Charley.

He didn't deserve any loyalty.

"What happens afterwards?" Amy said, cautiously. "To us?"

"How about freedom?"

Amy blinked. She had not expected that one. Maybe an offer to become the newest familiars and chew toys of the Ruthven family. Freedom...

"We could go?" Amy asked. "Anywhere?"

"Sure," Gordon said. "I have no use for you."

Peter touched Amy's arm, his voice low.

"Amy, their word is worth shit."

"Yeah, we don't have a whole lot of options now," she said, snapping at him.

"Tick-tock," Gordon said. "It's getting late."

Amy squeezed her eyes shut. Jerry didn't give a fuck about them. They were just toys. Useful servants. Why should _she_ care? Especially when Gordon was offering the keys to their cage. A dozen vampires should be able to take down Jerry.

Peter and Amy could finally have a decent exit strategy.

But on the other hand...

_No_.

Amy opened her eyes.

"What do I tell him?" she asked.

"Tell him the truth," Gordon said. "You saw Ed roaming around the building and you are afraid. Maybe he can come for you?"

Yeah. Why not.

"Give me the phone," she said.

Ed handed her Peter's home phone. Amy gripped it tight against her ear. Jerry picked it up quick. Had he been waiting for her call?

"Yes?"

"Hey, I'm done with the show," Amy said.

"Fun times?"

"Yeah...hey, listen, I think I spotted Ed sniffing around after the show and Peter and I freaked out and went up to his apartment. I don't really want to go out by myself."

"Tell Peter to drive you home."

"You know Peter. He's drunk already and he won't do it. He says that since vampires can't come in unless they're invited, he's keeping his ass inside."

"_Kitchen Nightmares_ is on."

"Please?"

He huffed.

"Okay. I'll go. There better be beer."

"I'll check."

He was about to hang up.

"Hey, wait..." Amy looked up and saw Ed and Gordon stare at her. She swallowed. "I love you. Alright?"

A pause.

"I'll be there."

#

Amy pressed her hands against her mouth. Gordon tapped her on the shoulder, pushing her gently forward.

"He's coming. Prepare to say hi."

Amy stood up. He walked in, hands in his pockets, looking around Peter's living room and smirking as he saw the gathering of vampires. What did you call a group of vampires? A bunch of crows were called a murder.

This was also a murder, of a different kind.

"Jerry, don't be shy. Come in, come in," Gordon said motioning to him.

"Well there," Jerry replied. "I didn't quite expect this reception. Hey, Peter. Amy."

His eyes were cold as they settled on her.

"Look, I did what you asked for," Amy said turning towards Gordon. "Can we go now? Peter and I don't need to see how you kill him."

"I thought you'd want to watch," Gordon said.

"I don't want to get any blood on my dress."

Gordon chuckled. The other vampires smirked. Jerry just looked like a block of ice, no expression shadowing his face.

"It was a nice touch," Jerry said casually moving towards Amy. "The girl fooling me into coming in here unarmed and unprepared."

"Well, you can't blame her," Gordon said, inspecting his nails. "You are a monster."

Amy stepped forward, moving closer to Jerry.

"Sorry," she said. "I just don't believe in happy endings."

"Me neither."

He grabbed her roughly, his hands like iron, and clamped his teeth on her throat. He didn't bite. He ripped skin and muscle and Amy gasped as she felt the blood welling down her chest.

Peter screamed, his voice darting off the corners of the room.

She felt Jerry's fingers as they lifted her face and he kissed her. He bit his own tongue and she tasted the lightest trace of his blood as her heart pumped furiously and she felt life ebb from her body.

"Love you too, beautiful," he hissed.

She felt as though she were drowning. Everything was muffled and her eyes could not focus. It was like being pulled underwater.

Jerry tossed her away, sent her flying across the room like a rag doll. She landed behind the bar, bottles and glasses tumbling over her. Amy closed her eyes and her body went limp.

She was dead.


	17. Chapter 17

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 17**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Oh, it's almost over.<p>

* * *

><p>Peter slid to the floor, his nails digging onto the side of the couch.<p>

He had killed her. The fucking animal killed Amy. He felt the tears coming and rubbed his eyes harshly, trying to stop himself from breaking down completely and sobbing like a little baby.

At least Peter should die with some dignity.

"Aw, that's sad," Gordon said. "Shakesperian, though. You know, I told Ed this would happen the minute he told me about the girl. Didn't I tell you, Ed?"

"Yep," Ed said.

Gordon smiled, turning towards Jerry. "I said this girl will be the death of him. And he'll be the death of the girl. It's terribly romantic. Of course, deep down you've always been a bit of a romantic. This desire to spin your life into a tragedy. I mean, you could just have left me alone instead of attacking my men and pecking into my business."

"Well, you know me, Gordon," Jerry said with a smirk. "Dude puts me in a coffin, I feel the need to bring him down when he waltzes into my town."

"Your town?" Gordon said, snorting.

"It's going to be mine after I'm done with you, dog."

"Too bad you don't have a pack," Gordon said. "Too bad you came here unarmed, blinded by the beauty of your girlfriend."

"Yeah. You know Gordon, if you kneel and beg I promise I'll make it painless."

The vampires laughed all together. Their voices reminded Peter of hyenas. A chorus of wild animals.

"Let me kill him," Ed said, cackling.

"No. I want to teach this museum piece some manners," Gordon said.

"I'll show you a museum piece."

Jerry raised his arm and pointed at Gordon.

_Zing!_

A dart hit Gordon, piercing his throat before he could utter a word or try to move out of the way.

Peter blinked. Jerry had a bunch of old shit and weapons, but Peter had completely forgotten about the forearm, retractable and concealable mini-crossbow.

Jerry turned around, knocking a vampire out of the way and vaulting out of the room.

Ed pulled the dart from Gordon's throat. Dark, black blood rushed out. Gordon pressed a hand against his throat, his face shifting into an ugly, animalistic mask.

"Kill the fucker before he can get his hands on more weapons!"

Peter scuttled behind the couch as the vampires rushed out of his living room, scattering around the penthouse.

"Give me my damn sword," Gordon told one of his minions.

He heard them walking out and held his breath.

Peter waited for a few minutes before he dared to poke his head from behind the couch. His heart was beating wildly and he figured he had three options: stay still, rush into the panic room, or try to make it to the lift and downstairs. With a dozen vampires between him and the lift he was thinking the panic room was his best chance.

Peter ran towards the panic room, his eyes zeroing on a lonely bottle of Midori which still sat on the bar.

He grabbed the bottle. Might as well drink it all away.

And a pale hand rose, scratching the wood of the bar.

Peter dropped the bottle and Amy pulled herself up. Blood was smeared all across her neck, shoulders and the whole front of her dress. She looked at him, growling, fangs showing.

"Amy!"

She blinked, the fangs retracting. She shook her head and he swore he could hear the bones cracking.

"Fuck. That hurt," she muttered.

"You're alive! I mean…undead!"

Amy flexed her fingers, glancing at her claws.

"I've noticed."

Without much care or thought that Amy was now a vampire, Peter jumped behind the bar and hugged her tight, feeling the wetness of her blood against his chest. She could turn into Godzilla. He wouldn't care. As long as she was still there.

"Wait a second," Peter said, frowning. "Did you know this would happen?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I told Jerry he could turn me if I ever told him I loved him. He got the message."

He stepped back, releasing her.

"You didn't think to warn me?"

"Yeah, with them listening in on us?" she asked. "That would have ruined the whole exit strategy."

"Point taken. But…I mean, isn't this a very drastic strategy?"

"What? You wanted them to have you for dinner? I knew he was lying. He wasn't going to let us live. Shit, he encased Jerry in a coffin for decades. Gordon is not a nice guy."

Amy went around the bar and back to the couch. She bent down, retrieved her purse and started riffling through it.

"Here," she said handing a flask to him. "Silver nitrate. It should work against Gordon's men."

"What? I just sprinkle it on them like they are pretzels?"

"It's better than nothing."

Peter slid the flask into his pocket. "I want a gun."

"Then let's find one and kill them."

"Wait," Peter said, grabbing her by the wrist.

Amy turned her head. Even her long blond locks were stained with blood.

"We could play the escape game."

"Look, Jerry needs us. And we need him. He can't lose this fight. Why do you think I'm going Bride of Dracula right now? Because I hate tanning?"

"There's twelve of them."

"That means we have to kill four each."

"Oh, so this is not because you have a thing for that centuries-old vampire?" Peter asked sarcastically.

Amy sighed.

"We don't have time for this conversation."

Peter knew she was right, but between the fear of dying and the desire to piss his pants, there was the angry knowledge that Jerry was the murderous son of a bitch who had killed his family, killed Charley, and no doubt was going to get the girl once this was over. What. Was. That. About. Why did Peter have to go stake vampires for his sake? Couldn't they sit down, make a Martini and wait for Jerry to finish Gordon off?

Oh, and there was that thing about Peter being a total coward.

Amy, as if guessing his thoughts, reached up and placed her hand against his cheek. He felt the vicious nails resting against his skin, but gently. She didn't mean anything threatening by the gesture.

"Peter, I'll always have your back. Alright?"

He knew that wasn't true. One of the things about being a vampire was you shed your humanity pretty quickly. He was actually surprised that Amy was still so Amy. Maybe it was the recent transformation, or she was just holding on to it. But she wouldn't care about him.

Not for long.

"I know," he lied.


	18. Chapter 18

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 18**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

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><p>Two more chapters. Reviews needed so I can finish this final stretch.<strong><br>**

* * *

><p>"Okay, holy water and sunlight won't work on them," Peter told her.<p>

"I know. It's silver."

"And cutting off the head or the heart."

They rushed into the weapons room, Peter skidding when they turned a corner. He grabbed a sword and a shield. Amy went for a mean-looking axe and flipped it around as though it were as light as a baton.

"Okay," Peter said. "I've used a fiberglass sword on stage. This shouldn't be too different."

Of course, when you are on stage the blood is just corn syrup with some food coloring. But he knew the gist of it. Right?

"Though I would still like a gun," he added. "Maybe a missile launcher?"

"Shhh," Amy said, pressing a finger against her lips.

"What?" Peter whispered.

"I hear something."

Peter did not hear anything. The weapons room was quiet and dark. Swords, axes and even a machete were arranged against the walls and in small display areas, the metal glinting in the dark. They were the only ones there.

"I think we're good," Peter said.

Then he did hear it. This scrapping noise. Tap-tap-tap. Very soft. One time, when he was a kid, a racoon had nested on the roof of Peter's house. It sounded like that.

Peter looked up.

Two vampires were scuttling along the ceiling.

"Freaking, fucking, fuck!" he yelled as the two of them dropped on them.

Peter's vampire landed right on top of Peter, pinning him to the ground. Amy, faster and more agile, moved swiftly to the side raising her axe. But the vampire was also fast. He dodged Amy.

Peter's sword lay inches from his hand, but he could not reach it when a vampire was trying to bite his face off. The only thing keeping him alive was the shield, which he was able to precariously hold at an angle. The vampire tried to bite him and bit into the hard metal instead.

Strong, clawed hands pulled at the shield, threatening to rip it away from him.

"Ammmmmyyyyy!"

Amy was having problems of her own. She tried hitting the vampire with the axe, but the weasel kept jumping around and she kept missing, hitting the space where he had been a few seconds before.

Shouldn't fighting be easier when you were a vampire? That was the whole reason why she had turned.

"Don't distract me!" Amy yelled.

The vampire pressed against Peter and he felt the shield digging painfully against his stomach.

"OK. I'll just wait here…until he pulls my entrails out!"

Damn it! Amy held the axe tight, trying to make the next hit.

_Now_.

Amy did not hesitate. She swung the axe and the blade cut through strong tendons and muscle, the vampire's head rolling onto the floor and crumbling into dust.

She turned towards Peter, yanked the vampire pinning him down by the shoulder and pulled him off her friend. The vampire snarled, outraged by the intervention. Then Peter whacked it on the head with the shield, a sputter of blood splashing Amy's already stained dress. The vampire wobbled and Peter hit it from behind. Again. And again.

The creature's skull was half caved-in before Peter grabbed his sword and cut off the head, ashes spilling onto the floor.

He was panting and sweating. He looked up at her, eyes very big.

"Okay…that was cathartic."

"I bet," she replied.

"Two down," he said. "Ten to go."

"Seven to go. Jerry has killed three."

"How do you know?"

"I…"

It was hard to explain. It wasn't a voice. It was more like a feeling. Like when you are on the upper floor of a building and they are playing music below, and you can't quite make out the words but you can feel the music vibrating beneath your feet.

She could feel Jerry like that. His smugness, the current rage running through his veins and the oddest – What? Worry? Affection? – for her as he felt her moving through the apartment.

She wondered what _she_ was broadcasting on his frequency right this instant.

"I just know," she said. "It's like the connection he had with me as a familiar, only stronger. A lot stronger. Come on," Amy said. "Seven more."

#

"Now," Jerry muttered, her indecision palpable.

Don't overthink it. Do it by instinct. That's how it worked.

He reached over, pulling the heart from another vampire. He stepped on the heart with practiced ease and felt her euphoria at killing one at the exact same instant.

Good. He could use the help. That's what he needed her for. If the useless drunk could pitch in, that would be nice too, but he wasn't expecting much from Peter.

He focused on Amy for a moment, interested in seeing how she was changing.

Between the violent outburst and some excitement at the carnage, he also felt the tingle of worry and a soft, gentle thought which was more a caress than a thought.

_Seven more_.

_Six_, he clarified, ripping off the crossbow from his forearm.

He wanted to leave Gordon and Ed for last.

#

Amy and Peter walked quietly next to the glass cases, Peter moving behind her. Maybe it was a bit cowardly to hide behind a girl, but she was an immortal monster and he was Peter. Amy turned her head, looking around a case. Peter gripped her shoulder.

"Anything?"

"No."

They kept walking. Collecting all that vampire hunting paraphernalia had always made Peter safe. It was a false sense of comfort, like maybe one day he would get to use it and become a real hero. Only he never did. Now it just seemed creepy. All the objects behind glass, all the shadows because he had decided to use special spotlights to illuminate the objects, and all the really freaky stuff he had accumulated. Like the three masks with big fangs set to their right.

Once this was over, Peter was redecorating. It would all be happy kittens. No morbid shit.

"What's there?" Amy asked pointing to a door.

"The solarium."

She opened the door and they crept into a huge, glass-enclosed space. Amy looked up and saw the moon and the stars. It was beautiful. She did not have much time to appreciate the view. Someone was ahead. A shadow drifted into the moonlight.

She recognized him before she saw him, something clicking in her head. Like a circuit that has just been completed.

"Jerry," she said.

The adrenaline pushed her forward and she rushed to meet him, but stopped a few centimetres short when she realized she had almost hugged him. Amy shook her head and backed up, the axe sliding from her hands.

Two long strides and he was next to Amy, kissing her.

Amy felt the pull of his lips, the pull in her head and in her blood. She raised her hands, hesitating for a second because – hey – he was a murderer, an asshole, he'd killed her and made her into a vampire. And, yeah, she'd asked him to do it, but this was still a very fresh situation for her and damn it, it really had hurt.

"Hey baby," he said, finally pulling apart from Amy and lazily caressing her neck. "Happy to see you again. Though you could have ditched the human and used him as bait."

"Hi," Peter said, waving. "I can hear you."

"No one is ditching anyone," Amy replied.

Jerry grinned. He kissed her again, a quick peck.

One of the glasses panels behind them shattered, then another. Amy gasped, looking around as Gordon, Ed and four other vampires stepped forward. They seemed very pissed.

"Sorry to interrupt the happy reunion," Gordon said. "I just can't stand this type of bullshit."

Jerry rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Really, Gordon. Can't a guy have a minute with his girl?"

_His girl?_ Amy thought, raising an eyebrow at that. When he had that happened? Was it automatic when he turned you? Like instead of proposing, hey, bite you!

"Kill the girl and the human," Gordon said, unsheathing his sword. "Leave Jerry to me."


	19. Chapter 19

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 19  
><strong>

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>One more chapter left.<p>

* * *

><p>Amy finally understood why Jerry called the Ruthvens "dogs" as they stalked forward, their features changed. Of course, Jerry also changed when he went full-on vampire. Amy supposed she could also change, a multitude of teeth sprouting from her mouth when necessary. But the Ruthvens changed into something different. Their whole bodies seemed to twist and shake and their faces went from slightly wolfish to basically completely animalistic, bones and muscle rearranging themselves and sticking out at weird angles. They laughed, a chorus of jackals.<p>

Now they were pissed.

"Awesome," Amy muttered.

One of them went towards Amy, sharps, vicious nails aimed towards her head. She rolled and sprang back up. Her own claws appeared as she dug deep into the vampire's belly, twisting her hands. He grunted, angered, but pushed her away and Amy went flying through a glass panel, knocking planters out of the way. She felt the glass cutting her arms and chest, and then the man was punching her in the stomach and Amy gasped.

"The silver!"

Peter fumbled, reaching into his pockets. He threw the glass flask towards her and she stretched a hand, catching it in the air. Amy smashed the glass flask against the man's head and little bits of silver nitrate spilled upon the goon's shoulders.

He began to scream, the flesh dissolving from his bones, smoke rising from his body.

"Sword!" Amy yelled.

"Sword, yeah," Peter said, rushing forward and swinging it with all his might.

Pop. A head rolled onto the floor and Amy raised her eyes, staring at Peter.

"You're getting better at this," she said. "Two more headed for us."

"Oh, man," Peter said, panting. "I'm too old for this."

"I'll let you catch your breath," she replied, stepping forward and intercepting one of them.

She came low, taking a swipe at his tendons and he bent on his knees, letting out an angry scream. The other one vaulted over his fallen comrade and grabbed Amy by the skull, slamming her head against the ground. She felt her head cracking open and gritted her teeth, digging her nails in his face and popping and eye out.

He scrambled off her and Amy stood up, feeling her skull healing itself, knitting back into shape. It felt weird. She wiped her face and prepared to attack him again.

Okay, she could do this. She really could.

But Jerry was already there, grabbing the vampire and tossing him to the ground. He reached down, tearing his heart from his chest with one swift motion and raised a smug eyebrow at Amy.

"I had him," she said.

"Sure you did."

"Behind you!"

Gordon was heading straight towards Jerry, sword aimed right at his head. Jerry ducked away. Amy growled, saw her axe resting where she'd dropped it and picked it up, ready to chop Gordon's head off from behind.

"I wouldn't intervene," Ed said.

Amy turned around.

He was holding Peter by the shoulder.

"Let him go, Ed."

"You put the axe down and left them duke it out by themselves."

From the corner of her eye, she could see one of the vampires coming towards her from the left. The moment she dropped the axe he would pounce on her.

_The other one is behind you._

That had been Jerry's thought.

Great. Ed with Peter, a vampire coming from the left and another from behind. One of them was going to catch her.

Amy breathed in.

"Fine," Amy said.

The axe hit the floor.

#

"Do you remember this sword?" Gordon asked, taking a swipe at Jerry.

Jerry evaded him with a shrug.

"It used to be yours."

"Yeah, I remember you stole it from me after you dumped me in a coffin. But what can one expect from a piece of shit pickpocket right out of Whitechapel? Didn't you use to collect shit? Selling poop to the tanners for their bate about a century ago?"

"Yeah," Gordon said, attempting to skewer him through the middle.

Jerry jumped back.

"But look where I am now. Look where you are. I have the most powerful pack in Vegas while you hide in the suburbs, draining teenagers and soccer moms. You have an army of, what? One and a half? I'm not giving full points for Mr. Vincent."

He saw Amy. Two vampires were creeping towards her. She had noticed one of them, but not the other.

_The other one is behind you,_ he thought.

"My one-and-a-half army is kicking your ass."

"Just remember: Ruthvens always have an ace under their sleeve."

#

The axe hit the floor.

Amy turned around, facing the vampire behind her and going for the kidneys. He had not expected her and seemed quite shocked when her claws sank into his flesh, ripping up and slashing at his throat. But then Ed and the other were upon her, plucking her from their injured colleague.

Ed's sharp talons cut her face, the other one aimed for her face and the twin pain made her buckle and bend down, spitting blood.

Ed grabbed her by the throat, fingers digging into her skin, squeezing savagely.

"Too bad you have to die twice in a single night," he said.

She panted and closed her eyes She couldn't take this for long.

And then, all of a sudden, he had let go of her.

#

Three vampires versus Amy.

And Amy wasn't doing too well.

Peter looked around, trying to see what the hell Jerry was up to.

...and it seemed Jerry was having his spine broken.

Great.

That left him.

Weaponless, to boot, because Ed had snatched his sword from his hands and tossed it away the minute he put a hand on Peter.

There was nothing to fight with.

He stepped back, broken glass crunching under the sole of his shoe.

He paused.

The vampires were busy fighting. He could sneak out, get the hell out of town. Mexico was still a possibility. Of course, that meant without Amy. Though now that Amy couldn't tan she probably wouldn't want to go anyway.

Peter closed his eyes, swearing.

He grabbed a long, sharp shard of glass and slammed it into the back of Ed's head.

The vampire turned around, outraged, and slashed him across the belly.

Peter stumbled down.

#

Surprised, Amy saw as Ed spun around, took a swipe at Peter and began rolling on the floor in a frenzy, an ugly shard of glass sticking out from the back of his neck.

Peter was on the ground, looking confused, his hand pressed against his stomach.

Blood welled, staining his shirt.

A switch was pulled inside Amy's head. Up until now, she had been Basically Amy. Not Amy lurked in there, stirring anxiously, but still smothered by the conscious humanity of Basically Amy. When she saw Peter was injured, Basically Amy vanished and Not Amy burst through.

Anger boiled inside her head and she took a huge, angry bite from the neck of one of the vampires who had been attacking her, spitting out muscle and bone. Her hands flew up, landing against his chest and pushing inside, as though he were a mushy pumpkin, tearing through his ribcage and pulling out the heart the same way Jerry had done it. Instinct and his knowledge. Now her knowledge.

Not Amy growled at the remaining goon and the goon stepped back, tripping over himself, suddenly looking a lot less confident.

She did as Jerry would have done. It was easy now. When you didn't think about it much, when you simply let the anger take over, she could tap into his memories.

She lifted the man from the ground, her hand squeezing his cheeks, nails digging into his flesh until she ripped of the jaw off.

When she was done with him, she turned towards Ed, who was still twisting on the floor, unable to pull the shard from his back.

He looked at her, snarling.

"Skank," he said, his hands lifting the revolver he'd taken from her.

The bullet did hit her. Amy felt it smash into her chest and she shook her head.

"Silver bullet," she said. "Useless."

Ed tried to scramble away. She caught him, plucking the shard of glass from the back of his head and jamming it all the way through his back. Hitting the heart.

He cracked and dissolved into a pile of ashes.

She grabbed the revolver.

_AMY_.

Jerry's loud call made her lift her head.

#

"Just remember: Ruthvens always have an ace under their sleeve."

Gordon reached for his boot. Jerry thought he was going for a knife. He pulled out a small, black stick.

Too late he recognized it: concentrated UV flashlight.

He raised his arm and felt the light searing his skin, making him instinctively close his eyes.

Gordon used the moment to lift Jerry like a rag doll, bringing him down hard on his knee, snapping his spinal column.

Now that hurt. And it also took precious minutes to heal, which left Jerry scrabbling, digging his nails into Gordon's arm as he lifted him again, smashing through a glass panel and walked towards the edge of the building.

"Okay, fucker. It's over," Gordon said.

_AMY_.

#

She saw Gordon. He was holding Jerry like a rag doll.

Right over the edge of the building.

_How big of a fall can a vampire survive? _

Amy held up the revolver.

Maybe she should let Gordon drop him and shoot the bastard afterwards. Two birds with one stone.

That's what Not Amy wanted to do, itching for more gore and blood.

Basically Amy struggled up, squeezing the trigger.

The bullet tore through Gordon's brain.

He teetered and fell, releasing Jerry. Jerry stretched out his clawed hands, gripping the edge of the building with his nails, hanging on for dear life.

She rushed towards him.

"Here," she said, stretching out her arm.

He clasped her hand and she pulled him up.

"I had that," he said once he was next to her, laying flat upon the floor.

"Sure you did," she whispered.

She heard Peter muttering something.

_Pete. _

She could feel herself changing, the inhuman vampire appearance disappearing and giving way to Amy in human form.

Amy scrambled, rushing towards Peter.

He was staring at the sky, his hand pressed against his abdomen. There was a lot of blood.

"Hey, let me see," she whispered, brushing his hand away.

Oh, shit. More blood gushed out. The wound was deep and ugly. She pressed down on his hand, her fingers stained crimson.

"Ow," Peter moaned. "Aw, Amy. I think I'm a sucky hero."

"You're a great hero. Honest. It's okay," she babbled. "It's okay, Petey."

She heard Jerry dragging his feet towards her, sounding a bit uncoordinated. Maybe the spine hadn't quite healed yet.

"No it's not. He's going to die," Jerry said indifferently.


	20. Chapter 20

**Carrion Comfort: Chapter 20**

**By Hedge Labyrinth**

* * *

><p>She turned to look at Jerry. He lifted and dropped his shoulders with an audible crack.<p>

"How do you know that?" she sputtered. "Are you a surgeon?"

"I was a soldier," Jerry said. "I know wounds in the field."

Amy had not cried when Charley died. She had not cried when she was in the juvenile ward. She had not cried when Jerry kidnapped her and forced her into his service. She had not cried when he bit her.

She wanted to cry now.

She felt as though, with every second, the human part of her was dying and if Peter died, everything that had been her would be lost.

She didn't want to lose him.

"We need to call 911," she said.

"Oh, he will be gone before that."

She knew he was being truthful. She recalled his own death on the battlefield, the bolt through his chest and the vampires slinking forward, finding him among the carrion.

"Help him," she said, her hands gripping Jerry's tattered shirt. "Save him. Turn him, like they turned you."  
>He laughed. A hollow, dreadful sound.<p>

She felt as though a vice were squeezing her heart.

"Why would I do that?" Jerry asked.

"Because we saved you!"

"You were trying to save your own skin."

"Jerry, you wanted a pack, no?" she said, desperately trying to come up with a compelling argument. "Well, here it is! We'll be your pack. All three of us."

"Nah," he said brushing a strand of hair behind Amy's ear.

She could hear Peter's heart slowing down, growing sluggish. She was about to lose her mind.

"You'll lose me."

"Will I?" he asked, smirking.

"Yes. If he's not around to anchor me..."

"What? You'll be as vicious as me?" Jerry asked, cocking his head to one side. "Because I bring out the worst of you but he brings out the best?"

"Something like that."

"I like the worst."

"No you don't!"

She slammed her hands against Jerry's chest, her nails digging slightly into his chest. He did not even flinch.

Her hands fell to her side. She fell to her knees like a supplicant before an altar.

"Please, Jerry," she said, her hand resting upon Peter's.

Peter had closed his eyes now and his chest barely rose and fell.

"Look, beautiful. We've defeated Gordon and have a city all laid out for the taking. It's a new world order. Let's go out and enjoy it. Let him die in peace."

He stretched out a hand towards her.

Amy looked up at Jerry. Her eyes were rimmed with all too-human tears.

"It wasn't just a ruse. I meant it when I said I... I loved you. But I will not...I will not after this. Never, ever. And you want that."

"Do I look like I'm pining for you?" Jerry scoffed.

"No. But you want all the pieces of me. Don't you?"

"Don't overvalue yourself."

She looked at him, with the blood spatters all overs his body. Filth and carrion. Was that all there was for them?

Was there nothing more?

Jerry knelt down, looking at Peter and shrugging.

#

Oh, damn. Worst hangover _ever_.

Peter blinked, frowning. He felt...odd.

Hey, wasn't he dead?

He could feel fingers resting on his arm. He could see, though blurry, as though he were staring through frosted glass, blond hair and a pale, pretty face.

"Okay, so is this heaven or hell?" Peter asked as Amy brushed the hair away from his face. "Because I'm not sure...I mean, considering you're in it."

His mouth was dry. Peter tried licking his lips.

Above him, the night stretched like a great canopy.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He felt it then. Where the oddness came from.

So he _had_ died.

He had been changed.

Oh, boy.

Peter glanced around, looking for Jerry. He must have gone in. It was just Amy, who looked a bit fearful.

"This is going to be...um...a bit difficult to adjust to," he said, sitting up.

"I'm selfish. I know it. But I would have missed you too much."

She was very still, just starring at him.

"I missed you even before I knew you," he said, though that didn't make much sense.

He was kind of glad Jerry wasn't around just then, because she kissed him.

Maybe being dead wasn't such a bad thing.

A drop of water hit him on the face. Then another, and another.

Rain.

Peter grunted.

"Come on, let's go inside," she said.

#

Darkness without light, though light was no longer necessary for her to see. She felt Jerry's complex, knotted feelings as she walked into the room and rested her chin against his chest.

She supposed nothing would every be easy with him. And a part of her would always hate him for killing Charley; for the rest. But she was grateful and she knew this was the most generous thing he'd done in ages.

And he'd done it for her.

"He's resting," she said.

Jerry didn't reply.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"I know what you are thinking," he said, sliding a clawed finger across her skull, parting her hair.

"What's that?"

"That you love your little Peter."

Amy slid herself upon Jerry, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"Jealous?"

"Curious."

He didn't ask _so what am I?_ but he didn't have to. The question was there.

"You are everything. We are part of you. We are everything."

"Syllogisms?" he asked. "How logical of you."

Amy took off the dirty dress, glad to be rid of it. She looked down at him, tilting her head.

"Oh, come on. We are vampires. Don't we make the rules?"

"It depends," he said, "on the game."

"What was it you said? A new..."

"New world order."

"Yeah. I know what you are thinking," she said, pressing a finger against his lips.

"What's that?"

"You feel young again."

Amy bent her neck, offering it to him.

He kissed her neck and smiled. She felt the sharp teeth beneath and the sly smile.

#

Amy stepped out of the hotel, her short white dress swishing with every step. Jerry was leaning against the convertible, arms crossed. He gave her an appreciative look, stretching a hand and catching her when she approached him, his hands settling on her waist as he kissed her, nipping her lower lip.

"Til Midnight Breakfast ends at midnight," Jerry told her.

"There are a billion places in Vegas that have breakfast at midnight," Peter said, pushing the car door open and unfolding his skinny frame.

He took out a cigarette and smiled at Amy.

"Hey," she said, kissing Peter too. A little peck. Not like Jerry. It was different with Jerry. Peter was always very kind and very sweet to her. Jerry was a dominant force, all energy and motion.

She rested her head against Peter's shoulder and he folded an arm around her.

She lit his cigarette for him.

Peter extended the box towards Jerry.

Jerry didn't normally smoke, but he rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette out, grabbing the lighter from Amy's outstretched fingers.

New world order, Jerry had said. He was right, in more than one way. The Ruthvens in Vegas were fractured into numerous warring factions after the fall of their head. And there were new players in town who were reaping the benefit. Technically Karnsteins, though not aligned with a lord, Jerry, Amy and Peter constituted an odd triumvirate. But it was the 21st century. One had to do things differently.

Amy wondered if this would change one day. They might be at each others throats in a century or two. But that was far and away.

They got into the car, Jerry in the driver's seat and Peter in the back, feet propped up as he smoked.

Jerry placed a hand on Amy's thigh and she turned on the radio.

_Shut up and put your money where your mouth is_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas_

Katy Perry sang cheerfully, the pop music filling the car.

"No," Jerry said, switching it off.

Amy switched it on again.

Jerry changed the station.

Blues played. Something old. Probably from the 30s.

_You sprinkled hot foot powder, mmm, around my door_

_All around my door_

_You sprinkled hot foot powder, all around your daddy's door_

_It keeps me with ramblin' mind rider_

_Every old place I go, every old place I go_

"That is real music," he informed them.

Amy rolled her eyes.

Fine. Compromise. That was what it was all about.

Amy stretched her hands up as the car began swinging down the neon-lit Vegas Strip, pulsating with life.

THE END

Note: Thanks for reading. Songs referenced are "Waking up In Vegas" by Katy Perry followed by "Hellhound On My Trail" by Robert Johnson. So you can imagine those playing over imaginary credits.


End file.
